


Captain Lambert & the Temple of Shadows

by AraSigyrn



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Steampunk AU, warning: dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris is one of the Shadow-born, a nearly human sub-race with a knack for infiltration and fighting. Left alone in one of the most inaccessible corners of the world to hone his skills, the last thing he's expecting is visitors.<br/>Captain Adam Lambert (AKA Capt'n Mitchell, The Star-born Captain, The Bane of the Skies) is the most infamous pirate in all the sky with a knack for turning a profit from every situation. When his ship is attacked in a desolate corner of the world, Adam gains a new crew-mate and an wholly unwanted bond. With his own secrets to hide, the last thing Adam needs is a wilful, inexperienced bondmate from an extinct species. Even if his newest crew-mate might know where to find the greatest treasure in the world; a treasure that could make Adam the King of the Skies...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** dub-con, slavery, power differential, collars, wings, bonding, tattoos, AU
> 
> Many thanks to solarbaby for the awesome art, deannawol and Tacitus for the beta/nit-pick and silentflux for her paitience and work on this challenge.

These are the things that Kris will learn much later: that the storm that starts within an hour of the sunset is in fact due to the meteorological cannons of the Harchester Trading Company's warship _Daedalus_ : that the 'stars' that fall from the sky are the lift-gems from the _Eye of Horus_ and that five ships die in flames and smoke overhead in the clouds as the storm rages.

These are the things that Kris knows right away; he's alone, deliberately and utterly alone with only the hunting knife his momma left him: the mountain side is thickly wooded and there are strangers running through the trees and there is a fire.

The fire isn't serious; the thunderous rain drowns the flames before they can do too much damage. The trees are old, ancient pillars of wood so hardened by the weather than they're sturdier than the marble pillars from his mother's stories of cities. It will take more than a few fires to bring them down. Kris is confident of that.

What terrifies Kris is the _light_ of the flames. The mountain is known to his people as the Nightfang and Kris' whole reason for being here is the perpetual darkness. He's adapted to the ever present clouds choking out the little sunlight that falls into the valley. Kris has been on the Nightfang for three full moons and grown used to the sporadic starlight in a weird inversion of day and night.

The sudden hard light tears at his eyes and shreds the edges of the shadows. Kris flinches away, feeling the jagged edges like broken pottery shards against his skin. He retreats to the safety of the shadows and hurries away from the voices. His mother told him that he should not fight if he is found. There is no chance the soldiers are here for him. They won't know to look for him and there's nothing on the mountain worth stealing; Kris has only his hut, with a straw mattress and two changes of clothes which he isn't particularly worried about. Everything else he owns, he's carrying.

People are shouting and guns are going off around the fire as Kris tries to find his way back down to where his hut is tucked into the scree of an old avalanche. The shadows are jagged and the shapes of the trees look distorted by the red light. Kris isn't watching where he puts his feet, sight an unwelcome distraction and he doesn't see the man in black until he trips over him.

Kris goes down hard, startled and clumsy. His eyes snap shut as he rolls and he feels the man's warmth through his skin and hears his heart beat. The man is alive. Kris looks down at him. There's something hitched in his chest, a tiny bruise on Kris’ heart and he can't look away.

The man is huge, tall as the mountain and Kris felt muscle under the soft cloth when he tripped over him. The man's hair is as black as his clothes. He's breathing deep and easy when Kris checks. He's hurt; Kris smells blood and feels the damp patch along the man's ribs. There are jewels that catch the fire's light as Kris rolls him on to his back. His face is pale and ...beautiful is really a word that Kris associates with girls and flowers but it's the only word that seems to fit.

Before Kris can take in any more detail, there are footsteps, fast and getting closer. There are more people coming, shadows jagged-edged and flickering in front of them. It happens so fast. There are shouting voices echoing through the trees, suddenly closer. Kris looks around in a panic. He can't fight off an army with just a hunting knife and the man in black is ...is nobody to him. Kris doesn't get the chance to run because there are four hulking men crashing through thorns with swords and clubs.

They're hunting the man in black; only reacting to Kris a beat after their eyes fixed on the man. They bring up their swords and say something hard and garbled. Kris doesn't recognize the language but the weapons are all the information he needs. He drops into a crouch and lets them charge him.

Kris gets the first with his hunting knife. He side-steps and lashes out, opening the artery behind the knee. The second goes down when Kris punches him in the throat but his breath isn't rattling. Kris missed the windpipe and his target's not going to be down long. His opponent lashes out blindly, knocking Kris back and leaving him off-balance and vulnerable. Kris reaches for the shadows but the man in black is faster.

Kris' attack had drawn the men towards him and he's the only one who sees the man in black open his eyes and roll nimbly to his feet. Two pistols appear as if by magic, barrels nothing more than tiny black pinpricks in the glossy metal. There’s just that flash of metal and Kris flinches at the roar.

The pistols are strange; not the simple model that he remembers but something with more barrels. Two of the men crumple like withered leaves and the guns click as the man in black thumbs back the hammer. The man in black locks eyes with him and Kris can't move, can't breathe, for that one vital second. The man in black cocks his head, then smiles, bright and feral.

His guns thunder again and the last of the men still standing break and run for the cover of the trees. Kris stumbles backwards, drawn after them by blind instinct. Again, the man in black is faster. He discards one of his guns and pulls something out of a pouch on his belt. He throws that _something_ at Kris. Kris dives for the shadows. It's all light and hard edges. Kris ducks too late and feels a constriction around his throat. The shadows slip through his fingers and Kris scrambles backwards. The man flashes him a rakish smile, snatches up his discarded gun and fires both again.

Kris hears the men behind him falling into the dark earthy shadows but he can't think past the panic and scrabbling terror as the weight around his throat gets heavier. Kris is panicking, breathing in shallow gasps that get harder with every second. The man in black strides past him and kicks over the bodies. Kris closes his fingers tightly around his knife as the man in black checks that each of the men is dead in turn. He can still barely breathe but he will be damned to the Dark-within-Dark if he lets the man in black kill him so easily.

The man in black crosses back to tower over him. Kris can't get his head up, the compulsive gasp of air hunches his shoulders and the leaf mould is cool and damp under his hands. He stares at the polished leather boots, the leather soft and buckles shining. He thinks he's going to die here but the man in black catches his chin and forces his head up. Kris tries to glare but he can barely see the man through the black spots floating across his vision.

The man in black says something, Kris knows the sounds are words but he can't connect them to any sort of meaning. His brain is full of mist and phantoms and he can't hear anything over the pounding beat of his heart. The man frowns, thick dark eyebrows drawing down like storm clouds. He hooks his fingers in the something-a necklace? Kris wonders - and Kris jerks. It feels like a storm-spark running through him and Kris cries out. He barely hears the startled curse and the man in black's fingers tighten. There's a flash, a dizzy sense of being in his own skin and looking down at himself and Kris nearly does pass out.

The sudden sharp tug on the necklace keeps him from falling. There's a stinging crack across his cheek and Kris gulps in a lungful of air. The necklace is looser all of a sudden, just barely tight enough that Kris can feel it with every breath. He _can_ breathe now and he gasps.

The man in black is pulling him to his feet, his knuckles hard and warm against Kris' jugular. He looks up at the sky and back at Kris. He presses against something smooth and cold, pushing it against Kris' Adam's apple. Kris feels a tingle of warmth. Then they're running, the man in black glancing up at the sky.

He has a gun in his free hand and Kris is stumbling and tripping over roots because he can't look down with the man's fingers hooked in the necklace and his legs are shorter so he has to run harder just to keep up. The man in black fires a few shots and once Kris hears a scream but they never stop running.

Kris falters many times, he's too dizzy and over-excited to be graceful and he trips over roots and stones too many times to count. He expects the man in black to leave him behind every time he stumbles. It never happens. The man snaps at him, words strangely distorted by his accent but Kris can't focus long enough to make sense of them. The man in black drags him along, pulling Kris by the necklace if he slows at all.

Kris can't get loose and the world dwindles to the earth under his feet and the tight band of the necklace around his neck. The man in black is a flickering patch of pure black ahead of him. Kris stumbles again and this time, the man in black lets go of the necklace. Kris topples forward but the man in black catches him easily. He has an arm around Kris' waist and his free hand is holding a...ladder?

The ladder is made of rope and they are both swept off their feet. Kris can feel the muscles move in the man in black's arm as it tightens around his waist. His head falls back and Kris gazes up at the sky. There are golden stars over Kris' head and the thunder of an engine. The last thing Kris sees before he passes out is the brass name-plate with 'HYPERION' etched in strong black letters...


	2. Chapter One

Scarlett Joy has lived nearly her whole life on an airship; from her father's old crank of a ship to the sleek lines of her current home. She has fought dragons in thunderstorms, rappelled into the mouth of a smouldering volcano to recover treasure chests accidentally dropped overboard and survived nearly nine years as the First Officer of the _Hyperion_. She considers herself well past being surprised by anything in the skies or below them.

Even being brought to bear by the Harchester naval militia armed with the new metrological canons in the middle of the night with holds full of contraband doesn't ruffle Scarlett's calm. She is serene even when the Captain fails to make the agreed rendezvous. Adam is prone to improvisation and when the _Daedalus_ drops close enough to the bare trees that the branches snap under her hull, Scarlet assumes Adam's latest plan is underway.

She has no reason to suspect this is going to be anything but the normal day (well, night) until her Captain, bright-eyed and smiling, swings up onto deck with an unconscious young man tucked under his arm like a bale of expensive fabric. Tommy and Brad stare at him and Scarlett has to shout to snap them back to attention as the _Daedalus_ 's cannons fire.

The wind picks up, a hurricane gust that tips them sideways and Scarlet has to grab for the rigging to keep from being tipped overboard. Brad's tail snags her belt and grapples around her thigh. Brad is screaming curses at Tommy as his shirt rips in the blond's hands. The _Hyperion_ stabilizes and swings back to an even keel. Scarlet gets her feet under her and looks around. Brad and Tommy hit the deck in a tangle of limbs and curses. Scarlet hears Adam's boots hit the deck even as she turns. Adam has the boy tucked under his arm, mostly hidden under his coat but Scarlett sees a flash of pale gold skin and, holy Mother in the sky, is he naked?

Captain Adam Lambert is Scarlett's oldest friend and the finest air-pirate it has ever been her privilege to serve under. His ruthless, reckless intelligence has earnt him (and by extension Scarlett, the crew and anyone who's been within half a mile of him) pride of place on the Unified Trading Companies' Bounty List. He's gotten them outlawed in five of the six continents, barred from the airspace of the Maddasea islands on pain of death by fire and made them richer than most of the Old Gentry.

Scarlett has seen Adam shoot a man down from five hundred paces with a hip pistol and shoot a rifle while hanging off the gang-ladder. He's accomplished with the rapier, passing-good with a sabre and can at least be relied upon not to stab himself with a dagger. He is nearly as dangerous as he thinks is and he has a knack for getting the best of every situation.

He also has the worst possible taste in men. The only lover he's ever had that hasn't brought an itch to Scarlett's trigger finger was Brad and he's as cracked as Scarlett's ancestral china set. A good sky-man and a loyal crew-mate but even before Adam got him the tail, Brad was odd.

It says something tragic about Adam, Scarlett thinks sometimes, that his longest and best relationship wasn't even with a human. Brad can pass as human unless you watch his shadow under sunlight but Scarlett's learnt not to let that worry her too much.

She knows it's probably too much to hope that Adam will ever actually settle down which is why every time Adam brings a new boy back to the ship, Scarlett starts counting up the bullets and shells in the arms locker. A boy in Adam's arms is a problem. A boy who is as near to naked— in the middle of the Westlands during _winter_ \- as to make no difference has Scarlett contemplating throwing them both over-board.

"Adam," Scarlett says through her teeth. "You remember Maddasea, yes? And you remember me promising you that if you brought another pleasure slave back in the middle of a Situation that I would shoot you?"

"Scarlett, my darling," Adam smiles but there's a dark edge to it and the sweep of his mocking bow tucks the young man closer to his side. "I pay attention to everything you say.

There's another crash of cannon, this time with a spray of fist-sized hailstones and rain. Adam looks over the port railing at the _Daedalus_ as she gains height alongside them and his eyes narrow. His expression hardens and he's suddenly the Captain again. "Is there any sight of the _Horus_?"

"Not so much as a loose line of rigging," Scarlett says, snapping back to business. Adam's mood is more treacherous than a low-lying thundercloud and Scarlett's not minded to risk a lightning strike with four of the Harchester's biggest brutes in the sky around them. "The _Daedalus_ 's boarders can't be more than a couple of cable-lengths away and we've no sign of the rest of them. By the clock, we're an hour to sunup. There's not enough cloud to cover us once the sun clears the horizon."

"Then we run," Adam says without more than a glance. "Loose the ballast and inflate the envelope as much as you can and engage the engine to the propellers only. We'll need the strongest wind Tommy can manage; let him take the rest of the watch to sleep if he has need but we must have that wind."

The Captain separates Tommy and Brad with a well-placed kick and bundles the boy, coat and all into their arms. "Secure him below. If he escapes, I'll have your hides."

"Aye, sir!" Tommy and Brad shout and disappear with the boy as Adam straps his holsters shut.

"Keep the loft-crystals not more than half-bare unless there's no other choice. Get Tommy to give us the best of what he can."

"You don't want the shrouds closed?" Scarlett asks, eyebrows rising before she can catch herself. Loft-crystals are invaluable when it comes to keeping the _Hyperion_ aloft but the added strain on the engine to move them along means the crystals will cost them five knots an hour and that only if Tommy can stir a halfway to decent wind. No wonder the wind-weaver took the easy escape below decks.

"Half-open," Adam's tone goes dark and Scarlett nods, stepping back smartly. She does feel a brief pang of pity for the boy who will have to weather Adam's black mood and goes to tell Tommy to raise them their wind. She wonders if she'll have time to learn his name before Adam tires of him.

Scarlet leaves Adam to the helm and scrambles down to set the shutters, spinning the wheels to open the shutters halfway. Under her feet, the deck shifts as they start to rise sharply and Scarlet can hear _Daedalus_ firing but with the height advantage, the shots fly wide. Once there's a hundred feet between them, the heavier warship is left with nothing to do but fire impotent volleys and Scarlet smiles to herself as the engine roars. As the last of the shutters spin open, she catches a flash of white-gold through a porthole; Tommy climbing the rigging and the wind rises to a howl.

The _Hyperion_ has two loft-crystals to a ton - three times what a normal ship can carry - and with them half-bare and her holds full of plunder, she races through the sky nearly a quarter mile above the tree tops. The envelope inflates slower than Scarlett would like but the loft-crystals are shining and they keep their height easily.

Monte is priming the cannons and Scarlet braces against the recoil as they crash back in sequence and the _Daedalus_ rocks underneath them as the shots slam through the bigger ship. Monte cheers and Scarlet laughs. She doesn't try to say anything through the echoes of the cannon shot but Monte's golden teeth flash in the glow of the steam-fires.

Tommy's called a strong wind from the North, icy cold with an edge that threatens to strip the skin from Scarlett's fingers as she slides the last few feet down the rigging to the hatch. The _Daedalus_ is falling away and the cannon-fire has set off a thunderstorm with forked lightning and inky wisps of cloud trailing in their wake. The _Daedalus_ vanishes into the clouds as the _Hyperion_ soars away.

Scarlett checks the envelope, cursing her fingers and assessing the rigging. The ropes are mostly intact - the rear sail is torn and flapping loose despite the best efforts of the crew to secure it. Scarlet orders both rear sails furled and they struggle to pull in the canvas. The wind is still going strong, the storm falling further and further behind and the Harchester ships dwindle to tiny specks in the dark sky. Tommy's outdone himself, Scarlett thinks as the chill aches in her fingers and her cheeks go numb.

There's no sign of the _Horus_ even nearly half an hour later as the first grey light of the dawn starts to creep up from behind the mountains. The Captain is at the helm, coaxing every last inch of speed from the _Hyperion_. Scarlett reports the damage to the sails and Adam scowls. "Do we have enough canvas to replace it?"

"No," Scarlett says after a moment's thought. "But we have enough to patch it until we reach Nexus-Nebulei."

Adam scowls again, this time like the perpetually sulky child he is, and Scarlett rolls her eyes.

"No-one is going to get close enough to see the sails are patched," she says. "Nor will they care."

"It's the principle of the thing," Adam sniffs.

"If you'd rather, we can simply shoot down the ships we encounter?" Scarlett props her hands on her hips and Adam shrugs.

"I might just order it so," Adam surrenders the wheel to Sasha who takes one look at Scarlett's wind burnt cheeks and Adam's black expression and prudently keeps her eyes on the sky through the glass screen. "You have command. Keep an eye for the _Horus_ though if we haven't seen her yet, I doubt that we ever will. I must tend to my guest."

"Your guest?" Scarlett says flatly. It is only Sasha's unobtrusive presence that spares Adam the sharp edge of her tongue and Scarlett salutes crisply, storming through the hatch to the hold as Adam vanishes off in search of his latest toy. Tommy is sprawled out on some of the sacks of cotton left just inside the hatch, mostly asleep though he stirs at the sound of her boots on the deck.

"Hush, lad," Scarlett pats his hair. "No need to stir. Your wind's held well. We'll be a hundred leagues from those bastards by the time there's enough light for them to see."

Tommy flops back onto the sacks and Scarlett hears Brad cackle from behind her. She turns. Brad is smirking, swaying back and forth as the ship rocks in the grip of brief crosswind. Scarlett sighs. "Down, Brad. I've warned you; break but one rafter and I'll have your hide for a seat cover."

Brad drops to the floor, pouting. Scarlet's glare wipes the pout from his face but he meets her eye-to-eye with his head held high as his tail curls around his ankle. "You never let me have any pleasure."

"Your idea of amusement has gotten us run from three towns in the last month," Scarlett points out. "And I'd throw you over the side if the Captain hadn't given you wings not two days ago."

"Handy things, alchemists," Brad beams at her and Scarlett thumps him. Brad half-ducks back into the shadows before the blow connects but it's the thought that counts. Brad is a good man with a sword, fearless in the air even with naught but Adam's witchery to keep him aloft but his manner grates on her when they've been too long aboard ship. Brad has no patience and boredom turns him wicked. He wisely elects not to taunt her further, glancing at them both with a sly smile. "So, where did the Captain find the boy?"

"'S not a boy," Tommy mumbles. "Too old."

"Like you'd know the difference," Brad snorts. "Infant."

"I haven't had the chance to ask," Scarlett says tiredly. "I was on the rigging, Brad. Doing actual work."

"I offered to go out," Brad argues. "Meg said I'd get blown away."

"With that tail?" Scarlett snorts. "She was likely more troubled by the thought that you'd tangle yourself in the rigging. We'd lose near to a knot of speed with you flapping in the sky like a half-witted bird."

Brad pouts outrageously while Tommy laughs and Scarlett rubs her temples. Brad knows nothing if not how to aggravate and he's like a vulture with a carcass when he gets in a snit about anything. Adam tolerates him better than she does but she can't help but think of the darkness in his eyes. He'll not welcome interference until the gloss has worn off his new toy.

"The Captain's dalliances aren't your concern, Bradley. Not anymore." Scarlett holds up a hand to cut off the protest before Brad can voice it. " _But_. If his new ...boy proves problematic, I'll shoot him and we'll throw him overboard. Fair enough for you lads?"

"Yessir!" Brad and Tommy sound entirely too enthusiastic and Scarlett sighs again.


	3. Chapter Two

Kris wakes to a lamp glowing and floor swaying under his cheek. He's alone but he can hear heartbeats and muffled talking through the wooden walls. The shadows are thin and tepid and they slip through his fingers when he reaches for them. The lamp's golden light hurts his eyes and Kris turns his face away to hide it under his arms.

The false twilight is painful and Kris can't hear the Darkness. When his breath catches, he feels the weight against his throat and he chokes for a second. It's hard to breathe through the panic with the constriction and pointed edges of the collar pricking his skin. Kris claws at it, feeling blindly for a catch or a clasp; anything that will get the cursed thing off his neck.

It fits too closely for Kris to be able to see it but he’s good at visualizing even through the gnawing panic. The collar is a seamless chain of ill-matched links in the shape of stars and triangles. It’s just flexible enough to allow Kris to breathe. Anything deeper than the shallowest breath and Kris can feel it moving. The metal is smooth, blood-warm from his skin and Kris feels the smooth round stone resting under his chin as he tears at it.

The metal doesn't even bend under his desperate fingers and Kris can feel his heart racing as he fights down another surge of panic. He reaches for the shadows again and manages to snag the corner of one but when he tries to slip through, the collar weighs him down and he falls through, head crashing against the corner and he falls back, dizzy and really terrified now.

It's only when he feels the jolt - like a mental slap - that Kris realizes he's not alone in his own head. There's something - a tiny opaque knot of alien emotion sitting in the middle of his mind. Kris reaches out to that and there's another, more painful jolt. This time it's strong enough to physically knock him backwards and Kris scrabbles back into the corner, curling in on himself.

He can't think, can't hear the voices or the heartbeats past the chilling awareness that there's a stranger's thoughts inside his _mind_. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before and Kris half-expects it to burst. His mother used to tell him that it would if he didn't stop pushing himself and Kris remembers arguing that no, hearts didn't burst, they broke.

He misses his mother suddenly; misses his father and Cale and all his people. He wonders if they'll come to the mountain and know that he was taken. There aren't any windows and the shadows are too thin to give him any sense of where he is. He won't be able to call for them unless he can find real shadows and the collar seems to constrict when Kris thinks about how loud he could call and what sort of shadows he needs.

The knot of strange thoughts pulls tighter too and while there isn't another jolt, the promise of one crackles through Kris' thoughts and his breath congeals in a hard lump under the collar. He can feel the stranger's thoughts - a muddle of colours and shapes and words - flowing through his head and there's a sense of being watched but he can't understand the thoughts and the complexity and variance confuses him.

He can't get any further back into his corner and he's so afraid that he doesn't realise there are footsteps approaching until he hears something rattle and a hatch he hadn't noticed rolls noisily aside.

The man that steps through is familiar but no less terrifying. He towers over Kris, the lamp light picking out the brass loops gleaming along the left sleeve of his coat. He looks more dangerous than he did in the forest, all sleek edges and clean lines. He's wearing a hat, plumed and black as his coat. His boots are polished and perfect and even his trousers are clean and neat. He could have stepped from a full canvas portrait. He looks down at Kris.

Kris' mind is utterly blank. He can't think past the frantic need to escape - to get anywhere but here. He can't imagine how he's going to escape; he just knows that if he doesn't go now, he'll never get away.

"Hush," the man says, snapping his fingers imperiously. He's still talking but Kris can't focus on meaning. Every gesture sends reflected light from the brass stripes along the man’s sleeve flashing across the room and Kris flinches back. The man's tone changes, gets shorter and his words break down into harsh barks of sound and the knot in his mind pulls tighter and tighter. Kris tries to pull away, tries to hide but there's nowhere to go and the man keeps getting angrier and angrier and the collar gets heavier and heavier with every breath. Kris screams.

He doesn't mean to, the sound escapes without his consent but the man stops talking and the knot goes loose and Kris can breathe for a second. He's curled in on himself and panting and there's a hand on his shoulder. Kris is shocked by the heat and the rough texture of the man’s skin. He hasn't been touched in months, maybe years and the shock of it steadies him for a second.

The man is looking down at him and frowning. His eyes are brighter than stars as he looks down at Kris like Kris is just a wisp of shadow that the man can see straight through. He frowns more deeply and says something. Kris tenses but the man's thumb merely rubs against his collarbone. It's still shockingly hot and Kris can feel a rough patch of skin along the side of the man's nail rasp against his skin. For long minutes, the man doesn't do anything else and Kris' muscles slowly lose their fearful tension.

It is nearly as silent as the Nightfang; Kris can hear the man breathe and the soft song of his heart. He relaxes by increments, keeping his eyes on his hands. The man is looking down at him and Kris is afraid of what those sky-coloured eyes can see. He doesn't realise he's shaking until the reflected light from the bright buttons flash through the shadows.

The man's voice is a blurry jumble of sound and Kris blinks hazily when the man pauses. Strong fingers hook under his chin and Kris lets the man tip his face up. Kris is fascinated by the curve of his lips and the fierce fire in his eyes. The man speaks again, slow and crisp.

The man seems to be trying to tell him something but Kris can't keep focused. The shadow underneath him is darker, cast by them both and Kris's eyes are stinging from the too-bright lights and his head is spinning and he wants just a few minutes in the dark and the quiet to think.

The only thing keeping him upright is the warmth of the man's fingers under his chin and the solid grip on the interlinked chain of the necklace. A tug tips Kris' head forward, his breath clouding the buttons which are still gleaming in the shadow. The dim light makes his head ache, like tiny needles pounding into his brain.

The man raises his voice and Kris flinches backwards. The door opens and Kris howls at the sudden white-hot radiance of light that pours in. He jerks back towards the safety of the shadows but the man doesn't let go. The necklace digs into his neck and there are hands on his arms.

Kris nearly strangles himself as he fights to get back, get _away_. There are other people and Kris can't fight past the crushing weight of the alien thoughts winding through his head. He feels like he's drowning in the storm of other people and the invasive presence of the other - the _Captain_ 's - thoughts. He doesn't fight fast enough to stop himself from being slammed against the wall. Then there are hands holding him in place and his shirt is stripped away to bare his back.

The people around him are talking but Kris still can't understand the words. He knows that there are words in the sound and he can almost reason out their meaning but the panicky sounds of their hearts are unsettling and making Kris shudder with transmitted dread. The wood under his cheek is rough - Kris can feel splinters digging into his skin.

The Captain is talking again; Kris can hear his voice over the others even through the clamour. His fingers run down along the bared lines of Kris' back, leaving a ripple of goosebumps in their wake. Then his tone changes, hard and crisp and the hands holding Kris in place tighten. The Captain's hand curls in his hair, turning his face to the side and there is light - painful burning light - and Kris thrashes to get free.

He nearly manages to break away but there are too many people and the shadows keep slipping through his fingers. He gets crowded against the wall by the sheer mass of the other people and the Captain's hand presses him closer to the wall. Kris screws his eyes closed against the light. The splinters dig painfully into his cheek. The Captain's thumb brushes against his temple and Kris feels the muscles around his eyes relax without his consent.

He can smell something sweet with a metal undertone and something light and sharp presses against the skin beside his eye. He can hear the Captain talking, a chant of words that echo through the hollows in his heart. The thin swirl of sensitized skin burns underneath the instrument and Kris feels it spreading like acid under his skin. He cries out but he can't move even a quarter inch with the mass of people holding him in place.

"Hush, lad," a woman's voice whispers against his ear, the words becoming clear with each breath. "Naught but a prickle, just a little thing. It will be over in a minute. Just a few more seconds."

Kris fights all the same. It feels like light being forced under the layers of his skin and spreading through his veins. The woman keeps talking but Kris is straining to understand what the Captain is saying. He can't hear meaning but his internal sense of the Captain keeps growing more and more refined as the lines are traced across his eyelids and up across his temples.

The tingle becomes a itching burn and Kris struggles to breathe as the Captain traces out the design. His strength and will are failing him inch after inch and the threads of the Captain's mind urge him into sleep. Kris sinks into the dark of oblivion as the storm closes over his head and Kris passes out.


	4. Chapter Three

"That could have gone better," Scarlett says tartly, shaking the cramp from her fingers.

"Not the time," Adam snarls as he pushes past her. Scarlett snaps the lock on the cabin once the last crewmen leaves. The least she can do for the boy is grant him some privacy to lick his wounds. Adam is already disappearing down the gangway. Scarlett takes a few seconds to curse her Captain and his family back fifteen generations before she follows him back to his cabin, waving away the other three crewmen and their concern. She loves Adam like the brother she never had but there are days when she could cheerfully slit his throat. Today, she isn't feeling anywhere near as merciful.

Adam hasn't secured the door which at least saves her the hassle of having to kick the door in. Adam's cabin isn't that much bigger than Scarlett's; the _Hyperion_ is built for speed over capacity and most of the extra room that Adam's cabin has is nooks and crannies left by the design. Adam keeps everything in chests, sorted in order of importance. The most valuable is the battered sea-chest with lead caps over the shards of loft-crystals that Adam can - and has - used to escape a falling airship. Scarlett is the only one on the ship that knows that the chest belonged to Adam's maternal grandfather. It also holds enough contraband Alchemical apparatus to get them all shot down by inferno cannon but the whole crew knows about that part.

Adam's hands are trembling as he stows the quill and the crystal vials in their cushioned box and closes the compartment. The Captain presses his fingers against his neck as the chest clicks shut. There's confusion in the way he holds his shoulders and his expression is slack with something that looks a lot like wonder. Adam looks ten years younger and unfamiliar.

"Okay," Scarlett kicks the door shut behind herself. There isn't enough room for them both to stand with Adam's coats hanging from the crossbeams overhead but Scarlett is prepared to tolerate discomfort for long enough to get to the point of this. "I'm going to pre-emptively give you the credit of not taking me for a fool who can't tell that boy isn't human. I've seen eyes like that before."

"You think I didn't notice?!" Adam spits, kicking spitefully at the chest.

"I think you don't know what the fuck you're doing," Scarlett snaps. "That kid isn't human. I don't think he even speaks a human language-"

"He does," Adam says immediately. "He doesn’t remember but he knows language."

"....okay," Scarlett tilts her hip against the bulkhead. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I can..." Adam hesitates and Scarlett's eyes narrow. Adam sits down on the bunk and something glitters around his wrist. Scarlett knows every piece of jewellery Adam owns and she's never seen that bracer before. Adam has one almost like it, but gold and blue opal instead of silver and jade. "It's not something I can explain. I just...know."

"Oh Mother-in-the-Skies," Scarlett breathes. "He's your _Cintamani_."

"No!" Adam’s denial is reflexive.

"Adam," Scarlett checks the door and lowers her voice. He's staring down at his wrist, thumb rubbing over the etching on the jade, like he's never seen it before. There's a slight curl to his lips that makes a lie of his denial; Scarlett's seen that barely-there smirk over chests of gold, barrels of spices and treasures beyond most people's imagination. "Adam, you don't even know what species he is!"

"Yes, I do," Adam sniffs.

"Oh, really?"

"He's like Brad," Adam toys with the bracer, not looking up. "You saw the way the tattoos healed over. Brad's the only person that has reacted anything like that to the _lapis_ tattoos."

There is, Scarlett thinks through the haze of red, no way this is going to end well.

"I-you- _Adam_ ," Scarlett grips her sword hilt, knuckles going white. "You brought another _BRAD_ onto the ship?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!? Or are we turning ourselves in at the next port to save the Trading Companies the trouble?"

"He won't be a problem," Adam promises silkily. He's smiling to himself, eyes heavy and Scarlett throws up her hands.

"It's not even worth arguing about with you right now. Just think about it, all right. We'll talk about this when your wits have returned."

The smirk is still there and Scarlett knows that there's no reasoning with him when he's still purring over his latest acquisition and she sighs and kicks the door open. In deference to the fact that Sasha, their carpenter, steadfastly refuses to learn how to use swords but is nonetheless only just less terrifying than a dragon in heat, Scarlett unlocks the door before she kicks it.

She makes her way down into the bowels of the ship, irritation prickling along the underside of her skin. The memory of the boy's face and the savage fight he had put up sat ill. Killing and stealing were the cornerstones of a pirate's life and Scarlett lost little sleep for the fat merchants and starched naval soldiers who'd run afoul of the _Hyperion_.

But it's been a point of pride for Scarlett that the _Hyperion_ does not prey on the weak and poor. The boy was no threat to them, transparently had nothing worth stealing and had fought every line of the tattoos Adam had etched in his skin. Scarlett remembers how his shadow had skittered wildly away from the light and how his eyes had an inky gloss of black when the oil-lamp was lit.

Scarlett nods to Sasha as she spins the lock to open the door to engineering. The engine thumps and hisses as the pistons hammer away and the whole room is hot with gusts of steam jetting out of pipes. Scarlett starts sweating even before the door swings closed.

"Hey!" Scarlett gets a split-second warning with the rush of super-heated air and Allison appears, launching herself through the steam to loop her arms around Scarlett's waist. Scarlett winces at the hiss and the faint tendril of smoke as her shirt singes under Allison's touch. "Oh, sorry!"

"It's all right," Scarlett steps back enough to inspect the damage and it's only a few scorch marks in the shape of Allison's arms. "It didn't catch fire this time. You're getting better at controlling your heat, dearling. I may owe Monte a drink if you keep this effort up."

The fire sprite beams at her and Scarlett smiles back. At twenty-two, Allison is very young - fire sprites can live for millennia - and her enthusiasm gets out of hand some times. She's been with the crew since Adam broke her out of the so-called 'Sub-human Zoological Foundation' in Undon nearly six years ago and has more than earnt her place. She's still a haphazard melee fighter but her control over fire makes her terrifying and it's kept the _Hyperion_ in the air when the fuel has run out more than once.

"You look gloomy," Allison observes, expression shifting to horror. "We're not out of rum, are we?"

"No," Scarlett assures her hurriedly. Sky Mother grant that no-one else heard that. Even a rumour that they're running low on rum could be disastrous. Pirates who are capable of shrugging off a lost arm or endless days of the same sour biscuit with never a second thought will nonetheless whine like babes plucked from their mother's breast if they are deprived of even a dram of rum. Scarlett has never understood why most pirates are such children about their rum. It isn't as if being drunk on an airship is safe after all. At least Allison actually _needs_ the alcohol to fuel her fires. "Nothing like that. Mother grant that day never comes."

"Then what?" Allison cuddles up to her side and Scarlett carefully shifts so Allison's skin is pressing down on the leather armour instead of Scarlett's skin.

"Adam has a new...he brought a boy back from that mountain," Scarlett sighs. "I don't know if that was a good idea."

"Adam? Making a bad decision? Is it Saturday already?" Allison rolls her eyes.

"He's not human," Scarlett shakes her head. "He was-you should have seen him. He was terrified and I'm not sure that he even understood a word any of us said to him. He's not even human. Adam's sure he's ...whatever sort of nightmare Brad is? He's half-mad with infatuation ...or worse."

"Worse?" Allison sobers up. "What’s worse than Adam getting infatuated? I mean, Mother knows Adam's addicted to the whole damsel in distress scenario but it doesn't usually last."

"He's put a Mother-damned collar on the boy!"

"Oh, oh, wow," Allison's skin heats up sharply and Scarlett winces at the sting of it. "That's huge."

"Exactly," Scarlett sighs. "I don't know if the boy knows what he's gotten into."

"You think this is alchemy?" Allison frowns.

"If the boy is one of Brad's folk, then almost certainly," and wasn’t that going to be a whole other disaster. Brad had been a foundling, obviously not human but close enough to pass unless you saw his shadow run from the sunlight. No-one was entirely sure what race of non-humans was ‘fortunate’ enough to count Brad among their number; certainly he belonged to no race known to the _Hyperion_ or her crew. In his cups, Brad is prone to maudlin plans to find his ‘lost’ people. When he finds out that Adam’s new toy is supposedly his kin....well, Scarlett makes a note to double-check the lock on the powder store.

Scarlett remembers the torrid weeks of Adam and Brad's affair. She remembers every day of those weeks. Vividly. It had lasted nearly a year and they'd spent that year running the sails threadbare and the loft-crystals dark. They'd gone through some of the worst and most lucrative voyages in all Scarlett's time on the _Hyperion_. Adam had plunged all his spare time into Alchemy.

"Brad was bad enough but this boy isn't anything near as fierce as Brad. He's not going to fight Adam on anything. I don't think he even knows where to start fighting and Adam needs someone who's able to stand up to him. This is going to be a disaster but he's half-way to mad with the new bond right now and he's not listening to anything I say."

"Well, collaring someone, that's huge," Allison points out soberly. "I mean, all the stories about Alchemists collaring their bonded are all epic legends, yeah?"

"Epic legends are only useful as tavern tales," Scarlett says darkly. Bonding wasn’t particularly well-known among humans except as the subject for vapid romantic novels, the like of which Scarlett most definitely did not possess (anymore). "They're a sight less entertaining when you're expected to star in it. I don't like this; Adam's done some lack-witted things but he's never done anything so moonstruck before. I need to speak to the boy but if Adam has truly collared him-"

"-he's not going to like that." Allison sighs. "Maybe it's not that bad? I mean, collaring is supposed to be this big romantic thing, right?"

"Not according to the books I've read," Scarlett mutters darkly. "Not for Alchemists. It's about ...fuelling the reactions and balancing the equations and other words – the style of word that takes two breaths to get through. I don't actually remember exactly. I think we still have some of those books - I might have to reread them."

"That's probably a good idea," Allison hugs her. "You're a little ...cynical about Adam's projects-"

"I am not," Scarlett objects. "Cynical is believing the worst of a situation while having no reason to do so. Considering the last ten years of ever-worsening disasters, I am being realistic!"

"...okay, yes," Allison giggles. "You might have a point there."

Laughing, Scarlett hugs her one-armed as the engine whistles a two-tone warning. "I should probably go find those books and get that research done. It sounds like I have taken enough of your time."

"But I like you taking my time," Allison pouts outrageously and Scarlett can't help but smile. "You will be at dinner, won't you?"

"Barring another of Adam's 'brilliant' ideas," Scarlett snorts. "I should be. I have the night watch, so I won't be able to stay for the music."

Allison's pout deepens but whatever she's saying is lost as the engine whistles imperiously, two pipes shrilling out another alarm and the fire sprite pulls a face and disappears into the engine in a flash of fire. Scarlett smiles and leave with her doubts not entirely laid to rest but her spirits buoyed. There are eight hours until dinner. Plenty of time to get some reading in.


	5. Chapter Four

There is light when Kris opens his eyes: soft, faded gold light. Kris can feel the warmth of it, prickling along his skin but it doesn't burn and the expected pain never comes. Kris lets his eyes close again, cataloguing the strange feeling. He hasn't been in direct light for nearly eight years, possibly more.

There are other sensations; the hard floor under his back is wooden but softened by fabric – a rug perhaps? He is on his back, the collar around his neck cool and light. It could almost just be metal. The shadows within the grain of the wood beneath him sing of earth/rain and the iron/steel of the tools that shaped them. There's a joy in the song that Kris doesn't expect. Kris can taste the Captain's breath, spiced with some strange drink. Kris knows, even as he tenses, that the hand on his chest is also the Captain's.

There is a tangle of thoughts/emotions in his head where the tight knot was and Kris knows that the Captain knows Kris is awake. He doesn't speak, doesn't acknowledge Kris in any way and his hand continues to sweep along Kris' chest. His skin is rough in patches, almost enough for Kris to read the shape of the tools (weapons) that the Captain favours.

There's a hum through the collar, a blurry counterpoint to the song in the Captain's heart.

He looms over Kris like a thundercloud, magnetic, menacing and mysterious.

Kris breathes in, as the Captain's hands - both of them now, warm and huge - fit themselves to the contours of Kris' ribs. He's more aware of his heartbeat as it echoes off the weight of the Captain's hands.

"Too thin," the Captain breathes absently. There's irritation, disapproval - like Kris is an ill-maintained tool that has been neglected.

Before Kris can protest, the Captain's hands slide up his chest, blunt nails scratching lines across his nipples and Kris' breath catches. It's not pain, not as Kris understands it, the sting focusing his attention and making him shiver. It's too sharp to be pleasure but Kris feels an alien heat kindle in his blood as the Captain guides his arms up over his head.

The Captain’s hands continue up, lightly squeezing the muscles in Kris' upper arms as they slide further up along Kris' arms. Kris can feel the first beads of sweat starting to form along his hairline and his breathing speeds up as the Captain's hands settle around his wrists, pressing him down.

He stares down at Kris like he's memorizing him, one inch at a time. Kris shifts, uncomfortable suddenly with having all that attention focused on him and the Captain's weight settles solidly down on him. Kris tries to roll away but the Captain is inexorable and this close Kris can't hide from him.

Fighting back is futile but Kris is stubborn like that. He tenses, readying himself and the Captain crushes him to the floor, shocking Kris into a wild struggle. He's starving though, hunger sapping his strength. Kris bucks up underneath him but he might as well try to move a continent. The Captain's thoughts are electric, a flash of interlocking demands that freezes Kris in place.

The Captain growls deep in his chest where Kris can feel the vibrations through his own ribs. He goes still, wary of the threat in the sound and they stare at each other. Kris feels like he's being evaluated but against what standard, he can't imagine. He doesn't move. He might have no other way to fight back but he can – and does – refuse to look away.

Kris certainly doesn't expect the Captain to kiss him.

The Captain tastes of suna berries and the bittersweet tang of zunip cherries and his mouth crushes Kris' lips back against his teeth. In the same instant, the tangle of shared thoughts knot themselves around Kris’ overwhelmed mind. It's overwhelming, painful and Kris is shocked still. The emotions that are the Captain's swamp his mind; Kris loses all sense of where he is. Is it his tongue that tastes the dry skin behind his teeth? Or is it his teeth that bite into his lower lip, bruising and thrilling. His heart is beating, stronger and faster than he can ever remember, thunderous and terrifying.

When the Captain pulls back, an eternity later, Kris feels like a fish snagged up onto land, floundering and gasping. He never knew a kiss could leave you so totally adrift. Not that Kris has much to compare it to. His year-brother Cale had been betrothed before Kris was sent to the Nightfang; Kate was from the North tribe, quiet but with a heart that sang of mountain roots and rivers. Cale had gotten to spend time with her, without their parents and told their year-group fantastic stories about what they'd done together.

Kris hadn't believed a word of it. Kissing had seemed disgusting, no matter how often Cale had insisted otherwise. But nothing in Cale's clumsy descriptions had prepared Kris for how utterly broken open he feels. He feels consumed and dazed from the satisfaction humming through his thoughts. The Captain's thoughts, Kris corrects himself, shaking his head.

The Captain sits back on his knees, heavy weight bracketing Kris' hips and...-oh. Kris feels his cheeks heat as the Captain licks his lips deliberately. He is unyielding, burning heat against Kris’ belly. Sweat pools under Kris’ shoulder-blades and the fabric under him sticks to his skin. He swallows and the Captain’s eyes darken. Kris rolls his wrists, flexing his fingers to encourage blood-flow and the Captain's hands tighten. Kris can feel the shape of his fingers before the Captain's grip relaxes again.

There's a shadow of smile curling the Captain's lips and he looks down at Kris with smug purring through him. His eyes trace Kris' face again, greedy and sure of his possession. Kris, still panting heavily, stares up at him. He can't hear anything but the pounding of his heart.

"What's your name?" The Captain asks as Kris' heart-beat slows to normal.

"Kris," Kris says automatically. "Of the Nightfang."

"Nightfang?" The Captain's thumbs rub along the calluses on the side of Kris' fingers. "I've never heard of a people called Nightfang." There's a pause and Kris feels the tug of the Captain's mind against his own. "Not your people? Ah, the mountain."

Kris tries to tug back, eager to have something from the Captain. He doesn't like the feeling that his whole life is just an open book that the Captain can simply read through without Kris being able to do anything to stop him. The way they're tangled up is hard to perceive; the mental equivalent of trying to see your own nose.

He gets a spill of ...something. Numbers and symbols that describe the truth underneath the numbers and the knowledge isn't the right shape for Kris to understand it but he feel the heat in the pattern over his eyes and he closes them, trying to keep the heat from burning the upper ridge of his eye-sockets.

"Huh, clever little thing, aren't you?" It's not a compliment and when Kris' eyes flicker open, the Captain's smile shows too much of his white teeth. It shouldn't be kindling heat in Kris' blood and he rolls his hips, trying to push back into the unyielding wooden floor.

The Captain's smirk becomes more satisfied and he leans down. The kiss is different this time, flavoured with the Captain's smug sense of ownership and Kris bites. There's a startled oath and the Captain looses him. Not much but enough that Kris can twist his torso to the right and his hips sharply to the left and throw the larger man off.

The Captain rolls, agile as a cat but Kris has his back against the wall and his knees under him before the Captain can regain his footing. He's breathing a little deeper, not quite breathless from the rush of heat that flows out from the tangle. The Captain's thoughts are sharp-edged and strange but he's smiling as he reaches up to wipe away the blood with his thumb.

He looks unsettlingly good with his lip stained red and Kris shakes his head, pressing back against the wall as those sharp thoughts prickle his mind. Kris bares his teeth and the Captain laughs, low and delighted.

"Not broken, then. Good! Marvellous," his tongue catches the bead of fresh blood as he stands, suddenly towering over Kris.

"Let me go," Kris rasps. "I've nothing you want. Let me go."

"Oh, my poor little treasure," the Captain is still smiling. "You actually believe that you can leave?"

Kris hisses wordlessly and the Captain laughs.

"Such spite," he chides. "You really aren't good at submitting are you?"

"I'm not a slave," Kris snarls. "I'm not something you can just...own!"

"Bet your life?" The Captain dares, wickedness sparkling in his eyes. Kris bites his lip and it's a struggle not to look away. The Captain straightens up, expression smoothing back to a neutral friendliness. His eyes still have that threatening gleam twinkling in their depths. "You should eat. You've slept through most of the last day and you don't have the build to weather missed meals."

Kris feels the tug through the metal collar, pointed edges and links digging into his flesh until he stumbles upright. The Captain's eyes skim down along the naked lines of Kris' chest. Kris feels exposed and for the first time, wishes he had more substantial clothes to cover him. He is once more the Captain's trinket and he should not feel the stirring heat rising through his blood.

"Yes," the Captain purrs, running a proprietary hand along the curve of Kris' shoulder. His hand should be cold against the feverish heat burning through Kris. "And after I feed you up, I'm going to tie you to the bed and paint your back with wings."

His fingers catch in the collar, tugging Kris off-balance just enough that he can't dodge the light kiss brushed against his lips. Kris squawks and tastes the Captain's smile. He manages to duck before the Captain can actually ruffle his hair. No-one's touched Kris this easily since he was a child and he's confused and resentful of it. It's a distraction. How is a body supposed to focus on escape or where he is with the Captain's warmth seeping into him and those big hands roving over his skin.

"A kiss? Don't say that's all it takes to break you," the Captain drawls against his ear and Kris slams his palms against the Captain's chest. He's too weak to actually _hurt_ the Captain; he can't tear the shadows under the flesh out or turn them to blades. What he _can_ do is throw those shadows (and the flesh around them) back into the darkness around the lamp's meagre circle of light. The Captain hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

Kris falls backwards. He can't pass through the shadows; the collar won't let him leave the room but again, Kris fights back. He doesn't need to pass through the shadows to use them. He slides along the shadows, coming out behind the Captain less than a second after he hits the wall. The Captain has already regained his feet and as Kris kicks the back of his knees, the Captain's elbow connects with the side of Kris' face.

They go down in a tangle of limbs and this time, _this time_ , Kris can and does fight. The Captain has some skill and an innate sense of balance that borders on the preternatural but Kris is very nearly a Shadow-Master and he fights to knock that smirk from the Captain's face.

He can't actually kill the man; the few punches that Kris doesn't temper send flashes of white hot pain through the place where they are tangled together. Kris learns and modifies his strategy, thinking in careful clinical thoughts. Kris learns fast. Nothing that could cripple, nothing that would kill but there are many ways to hit someone that will ache and hurt for the rest of the day. He scores nearly a dozen needling blows but he's still too weak to keep himself out of the Captain's unfairly long reach. Kris is still faster but his strength is ebbing by the second.

"Foolish treasure," the Captain catches his wrist at last and pins Kris to the wall after one last desperate flurry. Kris snarls at him. The Captain's eyes are dancing with amusement but the song in his heart is harsher, almost discordant. Despite himself, Kris hesitates. "As well to fight with your arms bound behind your back as to fight honourably with a pirate."

He eases back, just enough that Kris can breathe. "Still, at least you can fight. The shadow trick shows some promise. You may be more of a treasure than I imagined."

"I have a name," Kris snaps. "You asked me for it. Have you really forgotten already? It was only a few minutes ago, can you not remember? Or are your brains as addled as your morals?"

"I know your name," the Captain says, still with that damnable smile. "And if you're good? I might even use it one day. But until you are, you're just my precious little treasure."

Kris struggles, wrist twisting under the Captain's hand. "Filth-born, sullied-shadow barbarian!"

"Such spirit," the Captain lets him go, dusting off his black velvet coat as he turns. "Come. Dinner must be ready and Scarlett is curious to see what you eat."

"Food," Kris says sourly.

"From mute to sarcasm in less than ten hours," the Captain actually applauds. "Now, how long will it take you to learn respect, I wonder?"

"More years than you'll live," Kris growls.

"Promises, promises," the Captain takes a key from the inner pocket in his coat and unlocks the door. The hatch slowly opens to the sound of whirring gears and hissing pipes. "As much as I admire your spirit, my precious treasure, your tactical acuity needs some work. But a good meal should correct your sour temper."

"I wouldn't wager on it," Kris says, the collar tugging him along behind as the Captain steps through the hatch.

"Then perhaps an evening in bed will sweeten your mood?" The Captain muses. "I had thought to wait-"

"You want me to go to sleep again?" Kris asks, honestly baffled.

"Oh, poor treasure, still so innocent? I can hardly believe it," the Captain stops to stare at him. "Not that I'm regretting the chance to be your tutor in the carnal arts."

"What does 'carnal' mean?" Kris asks. There's a shadow under the word that feels ...hot and makes Kris' pulse thump harder. The Captain's answering laughter is low and rich and Kris shivers.

"Don't worry, my treasure. You'll find out."


	6. Chapter Five

Dinner on the _Hyperion_ is a crowded affair. The mess is one of the smallest cabins they have - Scarlett blames Monte for claiming the larger common room as the armoury - which means only half the crew can eat at a time. Well, Scarlett thinks resignedly as Brad's pointy elbow jabs into her side for the tenth time, only half of them can eat _comfortably_ in the mess.

The other problem with dinner is that the _Hyperion_ simply cannot keep a cook. After the last fire destroyed his autumn wardrobe, Adam had refused point-blank to allow another cook to set foot on his ship, thus dooming them to the best cooking that their shipmates can manage. The Captain pays for the finest supplies but the results are still...questionable.

It must be Janice's turn: Scarlett can taste the distinct patina of engine oil and there are entirely too many beans in everything. The curse of a good rural upbringing, Scarlett supposes, though the Master-At-Arms has otherwise recovered beautifully. Scarlett shouldn't be calling her Janice, of course, this season's name is Bloodfiend or something like that.

Chewing resignedly on her beans-in-bean-pate, Scarlett makes a note to check with Monte. At least Janice doesn't skimp the rum which is some mercy. Brad's elbow connects with her side again and Scarlett sighs, reaching for her fork. She wipes the worst of the beans off and sets the fork along her ribs, just as Brad gesticulates wildly.

"Motherfu-" Brad bites down the second half of the curse as Scarlett cleans her fork off again.

"Be grateful I didn't go for the knife," Scarlett says pleasantly and Brad growls at her, pointedly tucking his elbows in against his side and turning back to LP and Sasha. Scarlett glances back up at the head of the table. Adam is talking with Tommy who is doing an admirable job of overlooking the boy wedged into the space between Adam's unnecessarily grandiose seat and the bulkhead.

Scarlett feels for the poor child; though in the lamplight, she agrees with Tommy. He's too old to truthfully be called a boy. Adam’s certainty that he could speak proved true, as had Scarlett’s certainty that he was happier in silence, and the boy had introduced himself in carefully precise words. His name was Kris, information he had surrendered willingly enough to any (and all) of the crew who’d asked but he closed his lips tight to every question about his kin or homeland. The newly inked patterns across his eyes make him look exotic and the way he looks around the room makes Scarlett think that he's not quite as unworldly as she'd first thought.

The collar around his neck, easily the most ostentatious thing he's wearing, looks almost painful to touch. There are faint red lines where the boy's skin is marked by the irregular edges. The collar is manifestly Adam's work - the seeming chaos and the underlying order to it. Scarlett would be prepared to wager her quarter stake in the _Hyperion_ that should anyone but Adam try to remove it, they'd lose their fingers.

She's not the only one looking at the boy. Brad's stealing sidelong glances while keeping up his endless patter while Sasha and LP laugh. He was the only one Adam hadn’t permitted to approach this Kris, which Scarlett can’t blame him for. Whatever the truth of their familial connections, Brad spent most of the night pacing around the Captain’s cabin, prying and poking around for every fragment of knowledge he can find. Brad’s rapacious curiosity is overwhelming and he doesn’t care how improper his behaviour might become in the process of slaking it. If Kris is Adam’s _Cintamani_ then Adam’s chivalrous gesture is really pure self-preservation but it won’t have been enough.

Brad can’t look away from the boy. Scarlett follows one lightning fast glance and catches Adam's eye. The Captain is watching Brad through his lashes, blue eyes ice-cold with a glint of steel. It's the sort of look that he generally aims at recalcitrant merchants or Harchester's finest, the sort of look that promises pain the most inventive manner Adam can devise. Brad can't be that oblivious to the Captain's rapidly darkening mood which means he's heard that Kris is supposedly kin.

Well, buggery and damnation.

Scarlett cannot fully encompass in any language how much she resents being cast as _Brad_ 's knight errant. Nor, personal wishes aside, can she really sit back and let Adam flay the fool out of pure spite. She needs a distraction and quickly. Thankfully, most of the dinner is eaten and some of the crew are already a tankard of poisonously hot rum to the wind.

"I notice you aren't clearing the table, Brad," Scarlett pushes her plate aside, nodding to Monte as he snags it expertly as the ship sways under them. "And I know that you didn't cook..."

Brad's eyes are on her now but Scarlett is aware of the Captain's cool perusal without needing to look at him. Brad's tail is flicking against the leg of his stool and he has his arms folded and lips puckered around a sour pout.

"You know the rules, Brad," Scarlett chides him, grinning despite the very real threat of the Captain's wrath. "If you don't cook and you don't clean..."

"...you got to sing for your supper!" Allison crows. Scarlett flicks her hair aside just before Allison's arms (glowing with the inner fire which is burning brighter for the good meal and the laughter of good company) settle on her shoulders.

"Cruel and torturous wenches," Brad moans dramatically but his eyes brighten. For all his shadowy ways, Brad is a peacock. His voice is too shrill in the upper register to be a truly great singer but Brad is a born performer and he hops onto the table, tail curling up around the lamp-fitting, smudging across the brass work.

Monte has the strange lyre he spent half his share from the last hunt on and he picks up the melody before Brad's more than a couple of words in. Brad clearly isn't oblivious to the tension from the Captain's chair and he sings 'Drunken Sailor' and 'Widow of the Blue' without lingering on the off-colour verses. It's saucy rather than sensual and Scarlett is reminded that Brad isn't as deaf to the nuances of the Captain's mood as he can seem to be. The little bastard just doesn't care most of the time.

Scarlett claps time with the others; Allison swaying them both in time and yelling along cheerfully with Sasha and Tommy when Brad hits the chorus. Adam just watches, fingers combing through the boy's hair. The silver and platinum rings flash through the scruffy spikes of hair. Adam is watching Brad.

So, to Scarlett's honest surprise, is the boy. He shivers once or twice and blinks languidly when Adam tugs absently at the hair wound around his fingers. Once or twice, his eyes gleam slick black, like there's a sheen of deep-water oil over them. Even on his knees with one of Adam's wicked collars around his throat and the Captain's hand petting his hair like he's a tame hound, the boy doesn't seem at all cowed. He watches Brad as he sings with a focused attention that's rare to see on a pirate ship.

Brad ends with a flourish and bows in a sweep to applause. LP hands him up his tankard. Brad salutes them all as he drinks deeply and his gaze lingers for a moment on the Captain and Scarlett tenses.

Great Sky-Mother but if Brad provokes Adam now, Scarlett will hold Adam's coat for him. Brad glances sidelong at her. "But enough of such children's ballads-"

"You're finally growing up?" Scarlett laughs as Allison hollers at him.

"Such wit, firebug," Brad props his hand on his hip. "But as I said, enough of such childish stories! Time for some real history."

Scarlett doesn't recognise the ballad that Brad starts. It's a simple, sparse tune that doesn't actually need Monte's cautious backing. Scarlett taps her heel to the beat of it as Brad struts across the table, his tail keeping time.

"Where the sun never reaches, where Darkness is King,  
Through the mountains' teeth and over the blue sky,  
Where the griffons are found, where the eagles soar,  
Where stars never dim and where the dragons fly,

Under the sun and over the sky,  
Bind the wind and tame the storm,  
Rule the heights, command the world,  
Through the Temple, bind the shadows."

Allison is swaying as Brad sings of some Temple in some impossible place and what sounds like every myth ever dreamed by a sky-sailor. Scarlett's heard more yarns like that than she's seen stars and she claps along. Adam relaxes a little but his boy is intent as a striking hawk. Brad continues to serenade the crew.

"Under the sun and over the sky,  
Bind the wind and tame the storm,  
Rule the heights, command the world,  
Through the Temple, bind the shadows,"

Another voice joins in as Brad starts into the verse. Scarlett doesn't realise for a moment; the new voice is a fraction deeper with the same drawling accent and it isn't until Brad wavers in the upper register, that she can clearly hear the second voice. Monte fumbles the note, the lyre falling silent and the crew turn to where Kris is singing, eyes on Brad as the silence spreads through the mess.

"What you desire is yours, if you are brave,  
For power is only the reward of the bold,  
Rule the skies and conquer the land-"

Brad breaks off, turning to the boy. The damnable fiend that he is, he can't even keep the smile off his entirely too smug face. The Captain is tightly furious, one hand now curled in Kris' collar and breathing slow and deep.

"You know my song," Brad crows and Scarlett wonders if he's been struck blind or if he actually wants to die. The rest of the crew have gone still, wary eyes on their Captain as the tension mounts. "You have to be one of my people if you know my song!"

"Your song?" Kris' voice is deeper than Brad's and the soft tone makes Scarlett think he's not used to speaking. Doubtless he'll learn, she thinks dryly. "That's not your song. That's the way-song to the Temple."

"The what?" Allison demands. Scarlett drops a hand to her sword and meets Adam's eyes calmly.

"Way-song," Kris repeats, blinking away from the ruddy glow of her skin. "It is...directions, I think would be the best word. It tells you how to get to the Temple of Shadows. My great-great-grand-sire learnt the path through that song."

"It's a mnemonic?" Monte asks, keeping a wary eye on the Captain. Monte’s occasional lapses into academia can charm the Captain or drive him into a rage. Given the Captain’s expression, he’s probably right not to risk anything further.

"A memm-on-ick?" Kris asks, tilting his head and freezing when his cheek brushes against Adam's knuckles. It's just one instant of stillness, then he's back at ease. Scarlett's opinion of him rises sharply when Adam relaxes back to the watchful vexation. "A memory made of sounds? I don't know this word."

"It's a way to remember something without writing it down," Monte explains. “We use songs to remind ourselves how to perform our duties.”

Kris looks at him and blinks. His expression doesn’t change; clearly, Scarlett thinks bitterly, what the crew _needed_ was another emotionally constipated male. She idly weighs the odds that Adam would kill her if she attempted to re-educate him.

“You have way-songs?” Kris’ voice rasps in a way that makes Adam look at him with dark eyes. “For tasks?”

“I’m sure Monte will be happy to explain, in great detail,” Adam interrupts, voice a little deeper than the situation requires, fingers sliding into the collar so he can pull Kris closer. "But we're getting away from the main point. You say it's directions to this Temple of Shadows? Tell me more."

"What do you want me to talk of? The treasure? The gold? The wind-weavers? The dragons? The death traps?" Kris tilts his head enough to bare his teeth at Adam in a parody of a smile. Scarlett settles her elbows on the table and lets Allison crowd anxiously close. Adam is staring down at Kris, frowning and the boy meets his eyes straight on. Scarlett catches Allison's eye and hides her smile. There’s certainly no denying the boy has spirit!

The word 'treasure' has worked its usual magic on the crew and they're watching with greedy eyes as Adam pulls Kris up onto his knees.

“Let’s start with the gold,” Adam purrs.

Kris blinks, black filming his eyes for a second. “Nine and twenty halls from the mountain’s foot to its crown/a sea of gems and gold, fit to make a dragon drown.”

The collective indrawn breath makes the flames shiver in the lamps. It’s not more than doggerel in Scarlett’s opinion but pirates are always willing to overlook any flaws covered by copious mentions of gold.

There are demands to describe the treasure again, to talk about the Temple’s mountainous, treacherous domain. Kris still speaks slowly, words over-precise and the crew’s anticipation makes them giddy. Adam keeps them in check without speaking a word but he’s frowning as the excited chatter of questions rise into a cacophony of sound.

“I think that’s enough for one night,” Adam finally cuts them off. “We’ll discuss this Temple and its treasures in the morning.”

The crew quiets reluctantly but there’s no sky-sailor on the _Hyperion_ foolish enough to risk the Captain’s wrath with the storm clouds gathering. Adam lingers only long enough to be sure they are appropriately cowed before he carries his boy away through the hatch leading towards his cabin.

There is a pause during which Scarlett studiously avoids meeting anyone’s eyes. Allison breaks the silence with a low whistle and everyone breathes out. Janice - _Bloodfiend_ , Scarlett corrects - starts muttering about how much powder they have and stepping up her sharpening schedule. Brad taps out a jittery tempo on the table with his fingers and tail. Tommy peers after Adam and snickers. Scarlett is looking forward to when Tommy finally falls for one of the pretties that flock around him at every port. He’s so endlessly amused by the romantic drama that surrounds everyone else aboard that Scarlett could almost pity him for the inevitable reverse when he does fall in love. Almost, but not quite. Monte ducks his head over his lute picking out a jumble of notes. Scarlett looks around, assessing their mood like she would assess a bank of clouds that might become a storm.

"Monte," Scarlett calls. "I think Brad's sung enough for one night and I have a watch to take so the musical entertainment falls to you."

"Aye, ma'am," Monte bows and takes up his lyre again. He launches into the 'Tale of the First Sky Captain' which everyone knows and the crew picks up the chorus.


	7. Chapter Six

The cabin is too small to contain the Captain; Kris is achingly aware of every slight movement he makes. There's a sweet scent in the air, rising from the soft woollen rug underfoot and the silk-velvet covers on the bed. Distractingly beautiful light and shapes keep catching his eye.

The Captain's emotions seethe through Kris' mind. Kris shivers as the Captain strips off his coat and tosses it onto the bed. He never takes his eyes off Kris as he circles him. The line between their minds is ragged and the balance see-saws wildly with every heartbeat. Kris' sense of himself is shifting like quicksand under his feet.

The Captain is searching his memories of the Temple and Kris fights, instinctive and savage, tearing into anything he can reach. The spill of memories and feelings is like being caught in a whirlwind. He can remember, so clearly that it could be happening now - Kris feels the icy wind of the upper vault of the sky while the sweet-scented oil lamps fill the air and goosebumps rise along his arms and back.

He can feel the anger boiling through the Captain's very being, a deep red rage that leaves Kris dizzy and twitchy with the need to hit something and beat into dust. The urge to destruction, Kris thinks, can't be his. He doesn't feel this rage seething through his heart like the earth's blood simmering under the mountain until he wants to scream or kill or-

The Captain's teeth are sharp and Kris honestly can't tell which of them initiated the kiss but the shock of it echoes and reverberates through them both. Kris is still fighting for the first few seconds and doesn't struggle when the Captain catches his wrists and pins him against the wall.

There's a madness in his eyes as he looks Kris up and down.

"Mine," the Captain declares - demands. "Mine now, mine forever."

"Not," Kris insists. "I'm not a possesi-"

" _Mine_ ," the Captain's emotions are a seething storm of fire and want that steal Kris' breath. "You are _mine_ , nothing and nobody can take you and I'll kill any fool that tries!"

The image of Kris' kinsman - the man with the tail and the wicked smile - floats through his mind. There's a torrent of other images; Kris kissing Brad, Brad kissing Kris and the white-hot rage that overlays the Captain's every thought boils hotter with everyone. Kris can't help the gulp of laughter that escapes.

Kiss Brad? Ludicrous, insane! He is curious, yes. It's been years since he saw another one of his own people and never in his life has Kris met someone who wasn't part of his tribe but was of his people. Brad seems surprisingly ignorant of his heritage and Kris wonders how that has come to be. Still, his curiosity is a grey shadow next to the vast darkness of his want for the Captain. Even as he rages, even as he fights in vain to be free, Kris is drawn to the Captain like a leaf in a wind is drawn to the whirlwind that tears it free.

The Captain tastes only the curiosity, his growling anger blinding him to the self-evident truth. He kisses Kris again, a ravaging, hungry kiss that crushes him back against the wall with his weight. Kris kisses back as much from self-preservation as anything but there is a heady sense of power when the Captain groans against his lips.

The Captain's thin shirt does nothing to shelter the heat of his body. He is pure, solid muscle against Kris; a living, breathing wall. Kris feels giddy, light-headed and he is achingly, instantly hard. The Captain breaks the kiss, elbows coming to rest on either side of Kris' head, bracketing Kris in a vice of fire.

He rocks his hips deliberately and Kris chokes on the deep breath he was struggling to take. The flash and tingle of contact makes him gasp, rocking against the Captain's unyielding mass in search of the elusive rush of pleasure. The Captain watches him with hot eyes and frees one of Kris' wrists.

Kris should - _should_ \- push him away. He should fight or twist free at the very least. Instead, as the Captain's hand settles on his hip to guide the desperate rut of his hips, Kris' hand catches a fist of the Captain's hair. The height difference is enough that Kris' arm has to stretch to keep his hold as the Captain raises his head. Kris pants harshly and the Captain smiles.

"So eager," he praises. "So beautiful."

The words make Kris' stomach clench in a wave of heat and shame. He tips his head back defiantly and the Captain growls. His mouth against Kris' neck is nearly a bite and Kris can feel the promise of bruise where his skin is soft and thin. The pain sharpens the rush of pleasure as the Captain's hand urges Kris closer, angling his hips up and oh. _Oh._

This time, when Kris' hips rock forward, the flash is brighter, sharper and makes his muscles lock like fresh-forged steel. His heart skips a beat and his hand tightens in the Captain's hair, feeling the silky strands tangle around his fingers. The Captain's hand is bruisingly strong, digging in as though he means to bruise the bone where there is only the thinnest layer of skin and flesh to protect it.

When the Captain's hand lets go, Kris' stumbling rhythm falls apart. He clutches at the Captain's hair, babbling in strings of words and images through the tangle between them as the agonizing, burning fire in his blood kindles up to new heights. Kris is sobbing now, breath stuttering in his lungs as he tries to find the pattern that will make the prickling build of pleasure finally, _finally_ peak.

The Captain kisses him and Kris bites from the clawing need for _more_.

"Easy," the Captain croons against his ear. Kris' chest heaves and his skin feels too tight, his blood too hot. He wants - _needs_ \- more than this. He just doesn't know what _more_ would be or how to get it. "So easily riled. You are a tempestuous soul aren't you?"

Kris tips his head up, panting and bares his teeth at the Captain who laughs. His lip is bleeding again. Kris can smell the iron-tang of his blood and the rich red is bright against pale skin and dark hair. Kris runs his tongue across his lower lip, tasting the coppery traces and the Captain's eyes darken.

The rush of arousal, heavy and hot, makes Kris' head spin. His head thumps against the wall as his whole body arches towards the Captain. Kris catches himself too late to hide the involuntary reach. The Captain's laughter is strained and he releases Kris' wrists, fingers brushing against the collar.

The collar instantly starts feel heavier, weight enough to bend even Kris' neck. When the Captain steps back, Kris nearly falls on his face, stumbling forward.

Only Kris' stupid stubborn pride keeps his head up. The Captain's smile is quick-silver bright but his eyes are shadowed. The collar's weight presses the irregular points into over-sensitized skin. The Captain circles behind him and Kris shifts his stance, swaying as the weight of the collar threatens to topple him.

His chest strains with every breath but Kris braces himself with his feet apart and startles forwards when the Captain catches his wrists, winding a silken scarf around them. The scarf reaches up to his elbows, twisting Kris’ arms up against his back. The knots are secured before Kris can focus through the still simmering heat of need. In vain, Kris flexes his wrists but the knots are masterful. Every movement causes the scarf to pull tighter.

With his hands bound behind him, staying on his feet is harder than Kris expects. The aching hardness between his legs makes him clumsy and slow. Every breath makes him waver and every time his attention starts to shift to the Captain, his precarious position threatens to collapse. Kris breathes slowly and tries to watch the Captain out of the corner of his eye as the man moves around behind him.

The Captain is undressing. Kris figures this out when the Captain's shirt lands across his coat on the bed. He half-imagines that it's warmer; the heat radiating from the Captain's bare skin makes sweat prickle along the bare skin of Kris' back. Kris can catch glimpses of pale skin with pin-prick dots of darker pigment. He wants to see more but even if he could co-ordinate his quivering limbs, the cabin is too small to let him turn while the Captain is taking up so much space.

When he was old enough to leave his family, Kris spent years being trained to track his year-sibs by their breathing and the sound of the heart-beat. He's never been so aware of another person's presence; the Captain takes up all of Kris' attention. He's too big, distorting Kris' sense of space. Just the knowledge that the Captain is so close makes him feel hotter, frustrated and craving even the most fleeting touch.

He can't spare any energy for panic; the struggle to stay balanced and his hyper-awareness of the Captain consumes all his attention. When the Captain laughs, Kris' shiver is closer to a full-body spasm. He sways, nearly falls and the Captain catches him, hand closing around his forearm above the scarf. His hand feels like it's engulfing Kris' whole arm.

Kris' eyes flutter drunkenly. He can't hear anything through the thunder of his heartbeat in his own ears. He is achingly aware of the fresh wave of heat settling between his legs and tries to curl in on himself, cheeks hot with embarrassment. There's something far more embarrassing about being so obviously aroused when the Captain isn't pressed up against this.

His precarious balance wobbles and the Captain's amused huff of breath against the back of his neck. Kris' shudder ripples and rebounds through him.

"Down," the Captain urges and Kris' knees buckle without his permission. He catches himself halfway down, awkwardly crouching with his back angled to keep his bound arms from getting twisted back. The Captain's hand releases him and Kris sways alarmingly. He wonders for a second if the ship is caught in a crosswind but the Captain is steady and solid behind him.

His hand comes to rest on Kris' shoulder and it shouldn't be possible but it's heavier than the collar. Kris falls by quarter-inches until his knees hit the deck. His head falls back and Kris sees the Captain's expression. The kick of hunger in his own belly makes Kris gasp. The Captain bends down, forehead pressed to Kris’. Kris gets a twisted spicy pulse of something that makes him ache and a flicker of images; his own mouth, stained red and swollen.

The kiss that follows that image is bruising, stealing what little breath Kris has left. It's searing, greedy and the images sharpen until it's almost painful. Kris flinches a little from the sheer intensity and only the Captain's bruising grip on his shoulder keeps him upright.

The Captain breathes in slow and almost steady. Kris regains some sense of balance, breathing in short sharp gasp of air. He lets go of Kris' shoulder and sweeps the wool blanket from the top of the bed. It settles around Kris' shoulders and pools around his knees.

"Goodnight, little treasure," the Captain says as he snuffs the lamps one by one. Kris blinks away the after-images. The Captain is still standing over him. Kris' pulse thumps.

But all the Captain does is bend to brush another kiss, light and almost tender, against Kris' lips. Then he climbs into bed, settles onto his side with his back to Kris and goes to sleep.

Kris stares at the man in utter disbelief. Sweat is still hot and slick on Kris' skin, his heart is racing like he's spent the day training and his muscles quiver with the need to move. He is achingly hard, craving touch and more kissing and-and _more_. He can feel the shape of what he wants from the Captain's mind, details frustratingly vague but the very definite sense that there _is_ more. The Captain knows it, Kris is sure, and the Captain could give him the nebulous _more_ he's craving.

Kris shifts his legs wider apart, trying to think past the demanding pulse of blood in his cock. He hasn't been this hard in his _life_. He didn't know it was possible to want/need/crave like this, much less to feel that desperate tangle for so long. He feels over-full, his blood pumping so hard that Kris fears his veins will burst.

Kris folds down, groaning softly as his stomach rubs against his cock, until his forehead comes to rest on the floor. The woollen blanket slides down, over his head, to create a cocoon around him that rapidly fills with his own heat and warm breaths. Kris feels like he's boiling.

He tries to slow his breathing, forehead pressing down against the floor. He just doesn't understand how, if the Captain knows what to do to make this itching need go away, the Captain can just go to sleep. The Captain's back is solid and inscrutable under the covers. Kris has no choice, no distract from the itchy want that wracks him.

Each deep breath rubs Kris stomach down against the ache of his cock. He can't straighten back up with his knees weakened by the intermittent flashes of pleasure. His arms are still solidly bound. Kris' wrists twist and pull but the silk is smooth, supple and unyielding. The last wisp of light snuffs out. The darkness, which should be comforting and familiar, closes around him like a suffocating shroud.

When the Captain wakes the next morning, Kris’ muscles are tight with cramp. He hasn’t slept and frustration has soured his mood completely. He aches, inside and out and only the comforting heat of anger kept the tears from his eyes.

The Captain, bright-eyed and impossibly beautiful, looks down at him and smiles.


	8. Chapter Seven

"Hey!" Allison's call jolts Scarlett and she nearly rolls out of her bunk. "Wow, steady there!"

"Mgphf," Scarlett says intelligently, pawing at her eyes. She can't have been asleep more than a minute and her eyes are sandy and raw. She has to struggle to process the warm weight against her chest. "What? Allison? What are you doing?"

"I haven't seen you in forever," Allison flops onto her bunk, heavy enough to knock the breath from her lungs ins a rush. "You've been so busy."

There is an audible pout in her voice and Scarlett groans. She just wants to sleep but she has spent every waking second crowded into the Captain's cabin, combing the maps in search of this Temple of Shadows. Usually in Brad's company, because Adam has yet to let his boy wander more than a few feet without a rapid souring in his mood. It's likely that Allison isn't the only one feeling neglected; Scarlett doesn’t think she’s had a moment to spare since that blasted song rotted their Captain’s wits.

The impulse to hide under her pillow is fleeting but powerful. They are less than a day from Nexus-Nebulei and even if they miraculously manage to find a chart that shows this thrice-be-damned Temple, they'll never reach it if the crew have deserted for more lucrative opportunities.

Scarlett's groan is more heartfelt and she pushes herself up, yawning. One of Allison's hands slips along her hip as Scarlett sits up. The bunk rocks and Allison's grip tightens, heat searing Scarlett's skin. The sting of the burn wakes Scarlett right up and she yelps a curse.

"Sorry, sorry!" Allison throws the covers aside, pulling Scarlett's shirt half over his head to inspect the damage. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Scarlett grits through her teeth, trying to bat Allison's hands away. She doesn't consider herself vain and Mother knows, Allison has seen her in worse straits than this. Still, she feels rumpled and being bare-arsed naked (or as near as) with her hair in snarls and the flabby roll of her stomach sagging down does nothing for her mood. "The ointment should be on the chest."

"You keep ointment in your cabin?" Allison is far too young to be capable of injecting that much innuendo into her words.

"I spend most of my free time with a walking tinderbox," Scarlett hisses as she pokes at the scalded print of Allison's hand. "If I relied on the medicine bay's stock, I'd be burnt to a cinder long ago."

Allison pops back up with the jar in her hand. She refuses to hand it over, rubbing the ointment in careful circles with gentle fingers. Scarlett looks down at her intent expression and feels the irritation easing as a warm affection spreads through her chest. Allison smoothes the last of the ointment in and leans closer to brush a light kiss against the tingling skin.

Scarlett shivers and has to clear her throat before she can speak. "If you must drag me out of bed when I don't have the watch, the least you could do is pass me my clothes."

"Spoil all my fun," Allison huffs but she bends to gather up a fresh shirt and the battered soft leather trousers that Scarlett prefers. She even does up the laces for Scarlett, folding a clean rag over the burn to cushion it.

Then there is a clanging clamour. The bells, sounding the alarm. Scarlet swears and grabs for her sword and the pistols that she's certain are loaded. There's a thunder of feet on the deck and Hyperion sways as her crew race around her. Allison is hard on Scarlett's heels as she races for the bridge, swinging off the rigging as she comes around the hatch.

Adam's on deck already, hat and all, like the sort of pirate you see on the music hall stage. Kris is beside him, slightly behind with his face angled away from the sunlight and the new tattoos still red and raised along his back. Adam's eyes flick to her, narrowed and crazed. Along his arm, the newly polished brass of his apparatus gleams wickedly and he has ten pistols (that Scarlett can see) tucked into his four crossed belts.

"Good morning, Scarlett my love!" Adam smiles at her, nodding to Allison as she peers out the window. "Isn't it a fine time to hunt?"

"Adam," Scarlett says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I have had fifteen minutes sleep. Allison just burnt a print into my hip and you're irritating me. What patience I can claim is rapidly running out. Why have you sounded the alarm?"

"That," Adam points out the forward window. "Is why I sounded the alarm."

"Oh Sky-Mother save us," Allison whispers. "Captain, that's a Harchester warship!"

"Nonsense," Adam says with a wicked smile. "That's a frigate at the very most."

"Adam," Scarlett says carefully. "Tell me that we're under sail. Tell me that we're running. Tell me that even you aren't insane enough to actually pick a fight with a Harchester warship with the Nexus blockage less than ten leagues away."

Adam's smile widens into a smirk as he lets go of the wheel, sweeping past her with an impudent wink. "I don't have to tell you. Take the wheel, Scarlett. BRAD! TOMMY! Come with me! We have a warship to board."

"ADAM!" Scarlett shouts after him. "Adam, don't you-! Damn that man!"

"What do we do?" Allison stares at Scarlett.

"Go below," Scarlett grits out. "Tell Monte to stand by with the cannons and make sure the engine is stoked."

Adam, the lack-witted madman that he is, is already preparing the boarding party. Sasha strips off her shirt, joining the rest of the boarding party and turning her bared back to her Captain as he takes the electrum quill from his kit and adds the last ingredient to his inks. The noxious vapour rises immediately and Adam starts working quickly as the ink smoulders in the beaker. Even from a deck above, Scarlett can smell the sulphur reek of it.

Brad is first - making a show of his stoic demeanour as Kris watches Adam sketch out the pattern. It's a completed version of the half-finished work still raw across his own shoulders but the ink is the cheaper black. Scarlett was the one who had helped him rob the apothecary dry, after all and she knows the mix as well as anyone else does.

Brad's wings are leathery, bat-like and wide as the prow of the Hyperion. He makes a show of flexing them, smirking at Kris' awed expression. Adam, scowling as black as a thunder-cloud, caps the bottle and plants his boot in Brad's gut. One swift kick and Brad falls away, wings snapping out to turn his plummet into a rapid dive.

The rest of the party wince through the rapid sketching and dive off after him; Tommy is the second, diving off with lips and eyes already glowing. The winds begin to pick up as he swoops towards the Harchester ship, already struggling to come around as Tommy's wind begins to whip around the sturdy oak hull. The same wind rattles through the lighter shell of the _Hyperion_ 's hull and Scarlett’s attention snaps to more immediate matters. She spins the wheel sharply to port, bringing them across the Harchester's line as the silver bell labelled 'GUNNER' starts to ring.

"Janice!" Scarlett roars over the whistling wind. "Tell Monte to fire as she bears. Full broadside and keep firing."

“It’s _BLOODFIEND_ ,” Janice shouts back but Scarlett hears the

The first shudder of cannon-shot ripples through ship. The steam-cannons fire fifteen pound balls at the rate of five shots per minute but the stress of repeated firing will rapidly over-tax the _Hyperion_ 's structure. They can't risk more than twenty shots - two more broadsides - in this wind without the serious risk of tearing her apart.

Monte knows the _Hyperion_ 's ways as well as Scarlett does but with the Harchester turning steadily, her own guns coming to bear. They can't take a full broadside be it from a frigate or a full-sized ship of war.

The guns thunder again and Scarlett feels the wind starting to tug them to starboard.

"Come on, lovely lady," Scarlett whispers into air as she fights the drift. The timbers groan, creaking like a damned soul's lament. "Mother of the skies, grant me a fair wind and for the love of all that is good, grant us a good shot!"

The _Hyperion_ rolls. The anchor chain rattles across the deck and Scarlett sees the tiny trees far below through the portside porthole. Below deck, the loft-crystal shrouds shriek and there's a gut-wrenching moment where Scarlett is sickly certain that they're going to roll over. She strains against the wheel, fighting the pull of gravity and feeling it slip, inch by inch. "Mother damn you, don't-!"

"Tell me what to do," Kris' voice in her ear makes Scarlett jump and only a lifetime on the deck of an airship, keeps her grip on the wheel.

"Have. To. Keep, Her. LEVEL!" Scarlett grinds out as she throws her full weight into the struggle.

"Keep her level," Kris echoes and he's pressed up against her back, hands closing over the handles' tops and the wheel spins back like it's been greased and the _Hyperion_ yaws back as the guns crash again. The return broadside is less than overwhelming. Scarlett counts less than two thirds of the shots that were fired in the first volley. The boarders must be beginning the attack.

One more volley. Monte must hear her thoughts because the guns crash again. The timbers groan and there's at least one nearly deafening crack as one of the beams loses the battle against the torsion.

"That does not sound good," Kris comments in her ear. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"You," Scarlett grits out through her teeth. "Were born to be part of this crew."

"Somehow," Kris huffs in her ear as they fight to keep the _Hyperion_ on an even keel. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

"My mistake," Scarlett flashes him a grim smile and grunts as she struggles to keep the ship from overcompensating and flipping over on the opposite side. "You actually possess that most...uncommon of gifts."

"Oh?" Kris shifts his stance, both of them clinging to the wheel and straining to keep it from spinning again.

"Common-" Scarlett feels the _Hyperion_ buck one last time as Tommy's tempest wears itself out. "-Sense!"

Kris laughs and the guns crash one last time as the air collapses into the doldrum-still calm that means Tommy has released his storm. Scarlett steadies the ship and leaves Kris at the helm as she and Janice check the damage and Monte clears the guns, lying passive in their cradles as Monte shuts off the valves, redirecting the steam to the engine.

The envelope has been hit - a slow puncture that's oozing air into the sky and the beam that splintered is in one of the holds. It's not enough to cripple them but Scarlett isn't happy and she orders Allison to stay the hells out of it. The last thing they need is another disaster like a fire in here.

Scarlett stays in the hold until Sasha comes back and patches it with the spare timber liberated from the Harchester, along with enough gold, powder and information to justify the raid. Adam had returned to the _Hyperion_ as soon as they'd taken her, his apparatus allowing him to glide back without any real difficulty. Sasha reported that he'd managed to damage it again.

It's not until that night, when Scarlett's so exhausted that she's seeing a rainbow haze around the lamps, that she finds out the real treasure that Adam took from them. She stares at him for nearly three whole minutes, aware of Kris crouched by his chair and watching them through his lashes, in utter silence.

"Adam," she says finally. "Tell me you stole rum from the Harchester. Tell me that you stole a _lot_ of rum from the Harchester."

Adam's frowning at her, the charts spread out in front of him but he winks all the same. "We took all they had."

"Good," Scarlett says, rubbing her eyes. "I'm going to drink all of it. Then I'm going to my bed and I am staying there until the world returns to a rational state of being where things like this do not happen."

"You," Adam says in tones of highest disbelief like he's orating to a non-existent audience. "Are seriously questioning Fate?"

"It is NOT Fate that you found maps to this Mother-cursed Temple!" Scarlett shouts back. "It's a Mother-damned TRAP, Adam!"

"It's not," Kris says before Adam's ugly expression can translate into a shouting match. "It's a real map."

"That Harchester already had," Scarlett points out. "They know where it is, Adam. You showed me the route yourself. They're already there!"

"They can't get into the Temple without one of the Shadow-born," Adam says triumphantly. "We're the only ship in the sky with them."

Scarlett opens her mouth to argue but Kris' shoulders hunch over and he's breathing a little too slowly. She bites back her angry words and Adam catches her hands.

"Scarlett," he says. "My dearest friend, most wondrous and accomplished of first mates, I need you to trust me. We can steal this treasure right out from under them. We're the finest pirates in the world. We can do this and we'll be legends."

Scarlett sighs. "....there is not enough rum in the world to make this seem like a good idea...but when has that ever stopped us?"

Adam's crow of laughter makes her wince and his exuberant hug makes her ribs creak like the timbers in Tommy's storm. Scarlett already wishes she could take it back.


	9. Chapter Eight

Kris spreads the charts out across the floor of the Captain's cabin. He can hear the crew repairing the ship, a distant banging punctuated by cursing and snatches of song. The chorus of their hearts' song is steady, content and Kris wonders suddenly, when that song became reassuring instead of terrifying.

The Captain had sent him back to the cabin with a wordless command and Kris had been too fascinated by the charts to argue. He doesn't realise that he's sitting beside the Captain's chair instead of in it until the Captain comes in. The Captain doesn't comment but Scarlett's surprised glance makes Kris reassess.

It's too late to move. The scent of the oils in the room are having their usual effect and the thin trousers do nothing to hide Kris' erection. The Captain takes his seat and strokes his fingers through Kris' hair. Kris ducks his head and is grateful that neither of them expect him to take any part of the conversation.

Telling himself that it is utterly ridiculous that just the casual touch of the Captain's hand should make him instantly hard doesn't work. Kris has tried and failed to reason his way through the morass of conflicting needs that the Captain inspires in him for the last month. It's never worked.

The Captain and Scarlett talk about repairs and flying times. Kris tries to focus on the words but the terms mean nothing to him and he's too fixated on the warmth of the Captain's hand. It could last for a minute or a year for all Kris can tell.

Tommy reappears. Kris looks up at the leathery wings, neatly folded against his back and doesn't hear one word that the blond sailor sky-sailor says. He can't help but stare, entranced by the smell of the clear, open sky. The wings are solid, like they're real flesh and bone but Kris can see the shadows underneath. Even as he watches, the wings fray a little further around the edges. The dissolving shadows sound like the Captain and smell of the burning oils that the Captain used to paint patterns around Kris' eyes.

Tommy shrugs off the last of the shadows with a distracted roll of his shoulders as he listens to his orders. The ripple of the dissolving wings makes the tiny hairs along Kris arms rise in a ripple of recognition. The shadows are warm with the sense of the Captain. Kris watches Tommy until the wind-weaver salutes and hurries off to see about the weather and keeps watching the door until a tug recalls his attention to the Captain. The memory of the wings lingers all the same.

"How did you do that?" Kris asks once Scarlett has finally left to oversee the repairs, or perhaps to sleep.

"Do what, my treasure?" The Captain replies absently.

"Give him wings," Kris draws up his knees, still looking after Tommy. He doesn't expect the burst of bitter-sweet pride that flares in the tangled place between their minds.

"A relatively simple alchemical equation," the Captain says without looking up from the charts. "It's like Brad's tail."

"Does it hurt?" Kris wonders, remembering the burning pain of light under his skin.

"I wouldn't know," the Captain settles his chin on his hands, tone dismissive. “I’ve never had any complaints but pirates are a stubborn lot.”

Kris prods tentatively at the tangle of emotions and gets the answer to the question he doesn't dare to ask. He's learned a lot of the Captain's character over the last few weeks and there are some questions that simply aren't permitted. If it's information the Captain desires him to have, he will sometimes let Kris find it in the memories that he shares, however involuntarily.

The Captain can't use his Alchemy on himself. Kris gets the dry clinical terms that would explain why to a scholar but no real understanding, just the sure and certain knowledge that this is true. Alchemy is something that can be done or done to you, never both.

It's why the Captain's wings are brass and canvas, not shadows and flesh like Tommy and Brad's wings are. The Captain unstraps his apparatus and sets it aside. The scent of gunpowder and the chill of the wind still cling to it. Kris looks over at it and wonders how it would feel to just step off the side of the ship and fly instead fall.

The Captain's gaze is a prickling itch against the side of Kris' neck and he turns to meet contemplative blue eyes. The Captain watches him silently until Kris starts to twitch.

"Hungry?" The Captain asks eventually.

Kris' stomach gurgles a little and he folds his arms crossly over his traitorous midriff. The Captain laughs and takes a jar off his desk, opening it up with a pop. There's a rich, sweet scent that makes Kris' stomach growl again. The Captain dips his fingers in, drawing them out with something viscous and golden covering them. The Captain's fingers are sticky against his lips and Kris opens his mouth automatically.

The Captain's eyes go dark and he swivels in his chair, coaxing Kris closer with the slow drag of his fingers. Kris curls his tongue, chasing the sugary taste and the Captain's surge of want flows through his mind, making him groan. The swelling cycle of need builds up and up towards the same distant crescendo.

The Captain feeds him almost half the jar, humming under his breath and Kris lets himself just savour the moment. He barely notices the tug of the Captain's thoughts against his own until they align, two identical thoughts sparking off each other. Kris pulls back, licks suddenly dry lips as the Captain stares down at him.

The dream (memory?) of the sky and the clear cold air hangs between them, somehow not negated by the warmth of the cabin. Kris meets the Captain's eyes and sees the flash of some decision.

"Come," the Captain orders, already on his feet with an imperious grip on Kris' collar. There is an eagerness threading through the ever-present hunger that stifles any protest still-born on Kris' tongue. "Scarlett! You have the bridge and I'll shoot any man who disturbs me!"

There’s an answering shout from the bridge, thick with profanity but the Captain has clearly already dismissed the matter of his ship. A sweep of his arm sends the pile of discarded charts flying from his bed and he pushes Kris down. Kris resists for a few seconds before the inexorable pressure of the Captain's hand and the inviting softness of the bed overcome him. The sheets are soft, smelling clean and fresh, with the Captain's scent - spicy and intimately familiar -strongest of all.

Kris breathes in, face buried in the pillow to hide the momentary capitulation from the Captain's too-knowing eyes. He feels the Captain's hands on his shoulders, tugging at the borrowed shirt that hangs from Kris' slimmer frame. It slips off easily, the Captain's clever fingers completing their task before Kris can summon an objection. He shivers as the Captain's hands sweep down along the planes of his back and the glow of possessive pride shines through the murk of his thoughts.

"Wings," the Captain says in a tone a half-pitch higher than his normal register. "Are something of a masterwork in Alchemy. Any fool can shape a protrusion and adding feathers is barely worth the ink of the equations but _wings_..."

His hands settle, covering Kris' shoulder blades entirely. "Real wings require muscle and sinew and skin and flesh and bone in perfect proportion and position. Wings are no use," he is leaning into Kris, pressing him deeper into the bed as his voice slows and deepens. "Unless you may fly with them."

Kris muffles his groan against the pillow and the Captain's lips brush the back of his neck. The Captain's hands leave his skin and the loss of that furnace heat makes Kris whine. He hears the solid thump of a chest being flung open and clink of jars before the Captain's weight settles over his hips, pinning him to the bed.

"You must not move," the Captain strokes along the dip of his spine with ticklish delicacy. "You may swear or curse or kick your feet," he continues, guiding Kris' hands up to grip the smooth wood of the headboard. "But you must _not_ move. Not until I say you can."

"I am not a toy-" Kris starts before the Captain seizes the short hairs at the base of his skull and tugs, just short of pulling painfully.

"Stay still, little treasure, and I will give you such a gift," he whispers into Kris' ear. "Wings of your own and the freedom of the sky!"

Kris' heart skips a beat and his tepid anger drains utterly. He is obliged to tip his head back, neck protesting the near impossible angle, to meet the Captain's eyes. In the dim golden light of the oil lamp, the Captain's eyes shine brighter than the sun. He is alight with the same fire that sears Kris' thoughts. Kris bows his head forward; a conscious surrender.

The Captain's breath catches and his hand tightens painfully for a second before he lets go and reaches for his tools. Kris turns his face towards the wall and struggles to keep his breathing even. A cool cloth sweeps away the sweat and grime, smelling sharply of raw alcohol and leaving him stripped of even the slightest covering. Kris smells the oils and the chemical reek of mysterious potions and hears the clink as the Captain mixes them.

He sets the beaker by Kris' shoulder, a heavy chill against his racing pulse and Kris tries to breathe, tries to focus on something other than clench of anticipation in his gut. He is sharply, vividly aware of every pore of his back; of even the slightest motion in the air against the freshly cleaned skin.

The first stroke is bold, a clean sweep from just above his shoulder, down the line of his hip. The pain follows the contact like thunder follows the lightning strike and despite his best intentions, Kris moans. The Captain squeezes his hip for a second and breathes "Easy. Easy now."

The second stroke is the mirror of the first but this time Kris grits his teeth against the sound that tries to escape. He is rewarded by a feather-light kiss against the ball of his shoulder. The Captain brushes fingers along the skin just beside the lines and Kris can almost taste the pride that surges through him (them both).

Kris keeps mute through the first broad outline, stifling the cries and whimpers with gritted teeth and savage will. The pain is nothing that cannot be borne but even at its worst, Kris' body responds to the Captain as it has for weeks. The sway and lurch of the ship offers him the only friction he can risk. The Captain whispers to him, a meaningless croon of sound that makes Kris' battered pride sting. He is not some babe in swaddling clothes to be cosseted and protected!

When the Captain starts the agonizing work of detailing his broad strokes, the pain comes deeper and stronger. There is no respite from it; the sting is not the fleeting flash followed by the slower burn. Every sigil etched in his skin is a hot coal set to burn through skin and muscle. It hurts and Kris is still painfully, bitterly aware of the tiniest contact. His pulse swells his cock, hard and trapped against the soft mattress. Kris burns to move, to rut his hips against the cloud-soft bed but he bows his head and keeps his place.

He manages to keep silent for the first few seconds, tasting blood in his mouth. The Captain's thoughts are still afire with need and greed in equal measure but when Kris, drowning under wave after wave of pain, reaches for him, the Captain's mind embraces his own. There is pride aplenty but most is pride in Kris' stoicism, his courage and the Captain's thoughts whispers praise as his physical voice whispers comfort. He probes delicately in the corners of Kris' mind. Kris feels memories, old enough that the details are blurred and fuzzy, stirring and hears his mother's voice singing soft and sweet.

As the Captain's quill scratches across his skin, Kris clings tighter to the shelter of the Captain's silent praise and opens his mouth. His mother's song fills the charged silence between them and the Captain continues. Kris closes his eyes, tightens his grip on the headboard and lets himself drift.

He is half-tranced, comfortably apart from the pain and the perplexing arousal when the Captain finally finishes. For a second, Kris doesn't notice. The Captain traces the painful lines, finger like sandpaper against Kris' abused skin. The first touch hurts but it is the deepening connection between them that makes Kris falter. His mother's song trails off as the swelling tide of arousal thickens Kris' blood.

The Captain lifts his weight away, hands on Kris' hips as he urges him to his knees. Kris' grip on the headboard threatens to leave the imprint of his fingers. The Captain steadies his drunken sway, whispering soothing nonsense as Kris feels the first wrenching cramp twist his back.

He cries out, almost screaming. He feels suddenly as if he is wearing a shroud; a tight constriction binding him. The Captain's hands are on his waist as Kris bows forward and feels the skin of his back as it tears asunder. The release is a sudden, surge of relief and Kris' wings fan out, scattering drops of blood and alchemical oil across the cabin.

He cannot see them through the tears, has only the most fleeting impression of their size through the awe that strikes the Captain momentarily mute. He knows only that they are free and he is eased by it. Kris sobs with the relief but the heat in his blood is still there, his cock hard and sensitive to the slightest brush of fabric. He wants-!

"Easy," the Captain's busy fingers are at work on the waist-ties of Kris' trousers, while his other hand presses over Kris' heart, holding him back against the Captain. "I have you. It's all right. I have you."

Kris' answer is swallowed by the near scream as the Captain's rough fingers close tightly around his cock. Kris is so close, aching and wanting and the Captain's fingers move, setting the urgent pace that Kris' desperate release requires.

It takes seconds, if that, before Kris does scream. Throwing his head back, he feels the sting of the Captain's teeth on his neck and the world seems to explode around him.


	10. Chapter Nine

"Damn me," Brad sounds almost reverent. "Mother and Her children damn me!"

"And here I thought it was us damned to have to suffer under your company," Scarlett sighed.

"You wound me," Brad says without looking around.

"Not as badly as I will wound you if you don't get away from the viewport and let me see where in the storm-hells we are," Scarlett says sweetly. Allison is giggling beside her, real flames dancing through her hair as she struggles to keep a straight face.

Brad flounces out of the way, tail curled up in an offended loop. Allison stuffs her hand into her mouth to hide the giggles. Scarlett spares her a sidelong smirk but her attention is riveted to the stormy spiral of clouds ahead.

A mass of swollen bruised clouds fills the horizon from the ground to upper vaults of the sky. Lightning crackles in the depths of the mass. Even now, leagues away, the _Hyperion_ 's figurehead - the gold-plated dragon - sparks with lightning across the precisely carved horns. The lightning is greenish-blue and every time it discharges along the copper wires, there is an audible snap.

The _Hyperion_ 's engine is primed and the loft-crystals are fully covered, saving their charge. Scarlett looks at the storm ahead and feels the tug of the winds pulling at the wheel in her hands and that first rocking underfoot as the _Hyperion_ bobs. Taking a ship into a storm with the envelope inflated is dangerous, the first lesson any helmsman learns.

"Open the shrouds," Scarlett barks. "One quarter open and have Monte on the wheels. Winch down the envelope and throttle down the engine."

"Aye, sir," Brad salutes mockingly and bounds out.

"Allison, rouse the Captain and tell him to bring those cursed charts," Scarlett tightens her grip on the wheel as the _Hyperion_ bucked. The wind is picking up, drawing them in and Scarlett can hear the thunder ahead. "TOMMY! GET THAT DAMNED WIND SMOOTHED OUT!"

Tommy, still clumsy from sleep, scrambles past, half-dressed and with the shadows of his wings still trailing behind him. He gabbles something incoherent and Scarlett spares him one impatient glance. "JANICE!"

"Berserkdemon," Janice corrects in an offended tone.

"What-ever-blasted-name-you-want," Scarlett snarls. "Put a rope on Tommy. If we lose him to the storm, we’re all dead."

"As you wish," Janice stomps across the deck. Scarlett takes a few precious seconds to curse Janice, her romantic streak and Adam, for buying her the damn ballad books that put the idea in her head in the first place!

She hears Allison's rapid step and the curious silence that punctuates Kris' approach. Scarlett swears that if Adam doesn't get his feet under him fast, she's going to send every spare crewman down to haul him out by the nose and damn the risk to the ship! The _Hyperion_ drops nearly twenty feet as the envelope deflates and the loft-crystals take up the slack, thrusting them back up.

"SASHA! BRAD! ALL HANDS TO THEIR STORM STATIONS!" Adam's voice rises effortless over the thunderclap. "I WANT EVERY SPARE EYE ON THOSE THUNDERHEADS!"

"AYE SIR!" comes the roar from every corner of the ship as Adam ducks through the hatch, grabbing the handle to steady himself as the ship lurches sharply to port.

"Keep her straight, Scarlett," Adam barks. "For Mother's sake!"

"I'm _trying_ ," Scarlett spits. "You might not have noticed but that's a hurricane out there!"

Adam is behind her in the next second, steadying the wheel. Scarlett hears the catch in his breath as he takes in the storm. "Kris, we need those charts!"

"I got them!" Allison calls.

"No!" Scarlett and Adam yell as one and she sees Kris snatch them away from Allison's golden fingers.

"I love you, baby girl," Adam says and Scarlett watches Kris tense, the edges of the charts crumple under his fingers. "But you're a little flammable under pressure and those charts are the only thing that'll keep us alive once we hit that storm."

"Fine," Allison huffs. "But Kris doesn't know how to read the charts so I'll have to."

Adam looks down at Scarlett and the wheel jerks in their hands, sending the _Hyperion_ sharply to starboard. "I suppose that won't be too much of a problem. He can hold, you read."

Scarlett knows that type of rustling; the irritated snap as Kris opens the charts and Allison leans in to read them over his shoulder. She would smile if she could spare the energy. They have to fight the _Hyperion_ to keep her from getting sucked into the spiralling storm. It's a full-blown whirlwind, leagues across with the edges of it brushing the horizons.

Allison starts calling out co-ordinates and Scarlett and Adam move as one, leaning into the wheel. They don't have long before the storm devours the land and even the stars. It's somehow even bigger on the inside and the crew sound bells to warn of flying debris. The clouds are thick with rain and sleet and the alarm bells clang less than three seconds before some enormous blurry mass rips through the air.

One near miss - Scarlett thinks the hurtling shape might once have been a tree - nearly takes off the figurehead and snaps some of the for'ard ropes like thread. The main stay that anchors the envelope at the bow flaps wildly. Adam roars for the crew to secure the lines and the clatter of boots on the wooden deck adds to the cacophony.

"SHIIIIIIIIIIP!" Sasha's shriek makes them all jump and Allison presses up against the port viewport.

"There it is!" she shouts, nearly deafening Scarlett with her enthusiasm. "Mother be with us, that's a Harchester!"

Scarlett darts a glance sideways. The squat shape is unmistakable a Wyvern class battleship, envelope half-inflated and loft-crystals flaring like fiery-orange stars under the dull black shape of it.

"Eyes forward," Adam murmurs, turning his head to look directly out at it. "Fifty eight guns, if I'm not mistaken. Probably the _Evanu_. Well, we guessed that they must have made copies of the chart. Proof positive, I think, that they did."

"Admire your own cleverness in spotting the obvious _later_ ," Scarlett grits through her teeth. "Get us the hell past them _now_."

"Temper, temper," Adam laughs and Scarlett stamps on his foot. "Ow! Fine, fine. Allison, my sweet, back to the trifling matter of our course?"

There's a few frantic minutes, struggling to manouver through the storm with one eye on the hulking Harchester. Scarlett puts her focus on keeping them on an even keel and lets Adam (and Allison and the rest of the crew) worry about the Harchester. Allison is sent running back and forth with messages to Monte. Kris watches for any other flying debris; most of the crew are focused on the Harchester despite Adam's orders but the Shadow-born seems almost to ignore it. The storm seems to go on forever, endless miles of swollen clouds and wind. Scarlett's shoulders ache with the strain.

"Bugger," Adam breathes in her ear. There's a crash - the muffled sound of a full broadside, if Scarlett isn't mistaken - almost lost in the sound of the storm. "I think we can say they've seen us."

"Again, your grasp-" Scarlett grunts and throws her whole weight against the drag of the wheel. "-of the obvious is astounding."

"Allison, what's the next set of co-ordinates?" Adam calls over to where Allison is pressed against the window.

"That wind is wicked fierce," Allison says, clearly not paying any attention. "That vortex totally blew those cannon balls away."

"Fascinating," Scarlett manages. "Sweetling, we really need those co-ordinates."

"Oh, right!" Allison rushes back to the charts. "....uh. I don't- There aren't any more coordinates!"

"WHAT?!" Scarlett shrieks, twisting to look at her in horror. Allison holds up her hands

"We don't need them," Kris' voice is scarce above a whisper but everyone falls silent all the same. The utter surety in his voice rings like a church bell. "...I can hear it."

"Hear what?" Allison asks, looking up from the scattered charts. Her hands are leaving scorch marks on the parchment and the decking.

"The Temple," Kris says. His head is tilted like he actually is listening to something and the dull glow of the opals set in his collar are darker than Scarlett's ever seen them. She wants to believe it's just the storm, leeching the colour out but she can see the set of Adam's lips. He looks utterly expressionless.

Scarlett has seen that lack of expression before Adam stopped being airsick every time his feet left the ground. It's a bad sign. A worse one is the fact that Kris, Adam's fucking _Cintamani_ , isn't reacting to Adam's mood. The boy's hands are pressed flat against the glass, his wings hanging half-furled from his back.

"Adam?" Scarlett asks. Adam doesn't answer for a second. Scarlett can see the Harchester edging closer, buffeted by the winds but her heavier frame let her bull her way through where the _Hyperion_ would have been torn apart. "Adam?"

Adam breathes in. "Three degrees port and bow-down."

"Three degrees, aye," Scarlett spins the wheel.

Adam's eyes are trained on Kris. Allison is still crouched by the defunct charts, eyes wide as she looks back and forth. Scarlett catches her eye and tries to smile reassuringly.

"Four degrees to starboard, six down," Adam orders.

"Four degrees to starboard, six degrees down, aye," Scarlett feels the bump as the ship rocks but the new course is - must be - right. The winds are still howling past but the _Hyperion_ is flying strongly with not even a creak to hint at the awesome storm raging around her.

It's the single most terrifying experience of Scarlett's life.

She watches Kris, more by necessity than any desire as his wings start to spread, blocking out the last meagre rays of light. Adam continues giving directions, brows drawn down and eyes sharp on Kris. He gets slower, more tentative as the light dwindles steadily away.

Scarlett doesn't have a lamp lit; it was early morning when they found the storm and she doesn't even like using Adam's flame-less lights when there's bad weather. One fire could doom the ship and every soul aboard. It wasn't as if flying was appreciably more dangerous in the dark. The sky was a vast space and collisions were almost unheard of. Scarlett flew most of her night watches by the light of the stars. She's never been afraid of the dark before.

The Harchester falls away behind them, lost in a maze of cross-winds. There's no more shots fired at least. Still, the _Hyperion_ ploughs through the clouds. Tommy comes back inside, pale and shivering.

"The wind's running like a river," he tells Scarlett, voice hushed in deference to the tension that fills the bridge. "I don't think I could even slow it down."

"Then take some rest," Scarlett orders after Adam fails to even look Tommy. "Eat, drink and sleep if you can. This wind..."

"It's not natural," Tommy says, drawing his coat tighter around himself.

"I know, lad," Scarlett watches the last faint grey light fade from the viewports. Only Allison's subdued glow keeps her from being left blind. "Go, rest. You'll be woken if this river-wind of yours takes us anywhere."

Tommy grunts something and goes, leaving Scarlett to finally loosen her grip on the wheel. Adam's directions are meaningless now; the wind has the _Hyperion_ firmly in its grasp. Scarlett rubs the cramps from her wrists and hands. The knowledge that they are helpless in the dark makes her twitchy. The _Hyperion_ could be dashed against a mountain for all she knows.

She can't bring herself to leave the bridge. She does relinquish the wheel at least, crossing to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Allison. A tense quarter of an hour passes in nearly totally silence.

When Kris starts to sing, Scarlett feels goosebumps rising. It's a soft thread of sound in no language she's ever heard before. It makes her think of open graves and dungeons and Scarlett shivers sharply.

"We're nearly there," Adam says softly and Allison takes Scarlett's hand, squeezing tightly.

The _Hyperion_ surges forward suddenly, throwing her off her feet and there is a nearly blinding flash of light. All the sound of the storm goes abruptly silent and the _Hyperion_ slows, her engine now the only sound in the world. Scarlett can see the storm clouds, like a wall of mist and overhead, the stars gleam. Allison squeezes her hand again.

"I think..." she says hesitantly. "I think this is the Eye of the Storm?"

Scarlett opens her mouth to answer. She is interrupted by the thunderous crash of gunfire as the shooting starts.


	11. Chapter Ten

"I'll be damned," Scarlett breathes, gazing out the forward window. "You absolute, fluky, Mother-blessed _bastard_."

The Captain's smugness rolls off him like an ocean wave. It's not one hundredth so irritating when it's directed at someone else, Kris thinks. The Captain leans against the wheel, tightly attuned to every minor motion of his ship. Kris can feel that attention, like the electricity building in a cloud until the bolt of lightning escapes. He doesn't look back at the Captain.

He feels light-headed, alternatively chilled and fever-hot, as the two opposing forces tug at him. He can hear the Captain's heart sing behind him, a rousing ballad of passion and fearless courage. Ahead, the shadows of the Temple sing of Darkness, dreams that never end and the chill embrace of the Void.

Kris' wings quiver with the impulse to throw himself forward, through the shadows and the storms. The weight of his collar anchors him to the ship. He is exquisitely balanced, trapped on the precipice between his training and his bond.

The cannons roar behind them, brief flashes of gunpowder in the murky clouds betraying the other ships. The closest shot comes four hundred yards behind the bow with only the feeble sound of it reaching them. The battle continues, all of them oblivious to the fact that the _Hyperion_ and her master have slipped away into the deepest part of the storm.

Where the Temple lies, Kris knows.

He knows this like he knows his own heart's song; a simple truth that has no proof because it needs none to be simply, purely true. He can hear the song echo up through the tangled path and strains to hear it. Behind him, the Captain translates Kris' half-dreaming awareness into directions and the crew marvels at the gloom around them. Kris listens to the clatter and hears Brad come stumbling up to the bridge, the song in his heart hesitant but hopeful.

"Drop the anchors," the Captain orders. "Lock the shrouds and shut the engine off."

"Aye, C'pn!"

Kris sways forward as they stop, straining after the song that nearly fills his senses, palms flat against the cold glass. All the warmth in his hands seeps through the window, leaving his knuckles the blue-white of frost. He feels the cold spreading deeper and deeper, the first delicate filament of ice reaching for his heart-

The Captain's hand is so hot that Kris half-expects to hear his skin sizzle. The Captain leans into him and Kris leans back into the touch. His collar heats against his neck, warmth chasing the ice from his blood.

"Adam," Scarlett says behind them and Kris' hands slide off the glass as he looks back. "Why are we stopping?"

"Because we can't go any further," the Captain says simply. Kris hears Scarlett's breath catch and the sudden surge of angry discord in her heart's song.

"We _what_?" She snaps. "You-you-! Of all the foolish, idiotic schemes you've ever pulled, Adam Mitchell Lambert, this is the most-!"

"Scarlett," the Captain says sharply but it's too late.

Names are power. The first rule of everything; know the name and you know ...everything. Kris hears the Captain - _Adam_ -'s name and it resonates through his mind, unlocking the half-hidden memories. Kris' knees buckle and only the Captain's arms keep him from falling as the ship rocks against the pull of the anchor.

"Scarlett," Adam says because it's Adam now; not the Captain, invincible in his finery. He folds himself down, lips brushing the back of Kris' neck. Kris shivers. "I know this goes against every pore of your being, but I need you to trust me."

"We're beyond trust now, Adam," Scarlett answers grimly. "Trust got us anchored in a mire with the Harchester's finest shooting every square inch of air behind us. You owe me more than trust for this."

"I do," Adam admits, sliding back into the cadence of the Captain's commanding tones. "I owe you an explanation but we don't have time for it."

"Make the time, Adam," Scarlett says. Her tone is flat and rings of truth. "Tell me everything. You owe me that."

"I do," the Captain brushes another light kiss against the back of Kris' neck. "But it must be brief. Perhaps later there will be time for details. Right now, I can only manage a bare outline. Fair enough?"

"Be very convincing," Scarlett folds her arms. Kris sways back against the Captain. "And I'll thank you to devote your full attention to the matter rather than your boy."

"Ah," Kris feels the shape of the Captain's smile against his lips but he does pull back, tugging on Kris' collar to bring him with. "I knew about the Temple. Before, I mean."

"You what?"

"Not as the 'Temple of Darkness'," the Captain admits, curling his free arm around Kris' waist to keep him moving when shock threatens to freeze him in place. "But as the Fourth College of Alchemy - the Master College. Supposedly the last one to fall when Harchester and the other Trading Companies started to hunt Alchemists. My grandmother's great grandmother studied there and it's supposedly where the Alchemists hid their greatest works."

Scarlett, Kris sees as he is settled comfortably against the Captain's side, looks equal part sceptical and attentive. The steady hum of her heart's song makes Kris think that she's used to the Captain's chaotic and seemingly random ways. "What sort of treasures?"

"Nothing to compare with my own," the Captain draws him a little closer and Kris' glare is only half-hearted. "But the great Apparatus that allowed any Alchemist to control the weather and so, control the sky! The formulae for the potions that would tame the dragons themselves! Enough gold to buy the world a thousand times over! If we can take the Temple, Scarlett, we can change this war."

"So it is war," Scarlett says blandly. "Now, at least. We've flown together the last twenty years, Adam. If you learnt about this-...no, you learnt it from your grandma with all the other legends, didn't you? Why only mention it now?"

"I knew it exists and likely had survived the purge," the Captain nods. "But I never knew where it was. She didn't know that and it wouldn't have done any good if she had. Finding the Temple is only half the work. Getting inside...now that's the challenge."

His thumb is rubbing at the pulse beating steadily at the base of Kris' neck. "I didn't know what they'd done, not until I stumbled across Kris. They gave the College to the Dark so no mere human could ever find it. The Harchesters behind us are humanity's best attempt and even they couldn't manage it. No, if you want to take the Temple, you need to be more than human...or at least have someone who isn't human but willing to take orders."

Scarlett's eyes settle on Kris. He sees his own half-fearful conclusion echoed in her eyes. "You mean me?"

"I mean you," the Captain breathes. "I could, in theory, have sent Brad, even if being raised by humans _has_ dulled his instincts. I planned to at first but your memories hold more of the Temple than you shared. The greatest defence it has is temptation. If I sent Brad, we'd never see him again."

"Why aren't we going with this plan?" Scarlett wonders just barely loud enough to hear. It's not born of genuine malice, seeming more reflexive joke than anything else.

"Scarlett," the Captain chides. "But you?"

He turns to Kris, expression open and hungry in a way that defies all of Kris' carefully nurtured preconceptions. His hands come up to cup Kris' face and his thumbs brush the fine black lines that bracket Kris' eyes. The contact sends warmth curling through him and Kris relaxes, head sagging forward.

"You're mine," the Captain breathes and it's dizzying, terrifying to suddenly be the focus of all the Captain's attention. Kris feels scruffy, rumpled but the rush of the Captain's emotions suggests beauty, power, poise and Kris can barely recognise himself in the proud, hawk-winged figure that the Captain sees.

"Mine," the Captain repeats against his lips. He kisses Kris, slow and devouring with more heat than a dormant volcano smouldering underneath. It's possessive, confident and Kris' toes curl against the wooden planks of the deck. He has to catch the Captain's arms at the elbow, wings fanning out to steady himself.

Even as the kiss deepens and the Captain's tongue licks lazily behind his teeth, Kris can feel the Captain's mind reaching out through the tangle that joins them. Emotions, thoughts, memories and the flickering inconstant impulses that made them who they were all falling into line like the perfectly tuned engines or the intricate cog work that controlled the guns.

The intensity threatens to consume him entirely. Kris' mind flinches back as the Captain slides deeper into his mind and his heart. He gets a flash of a very different type of penetration and feels the Captain's hungry amusement at his embarrassed flush. There's a promising overtone that tastes of 'later' and he's drowning suddenly in the Captain's deepest, darkest desires.

Arousal sears through him and if the Captain was not holding him so tightly, Kris would fall. The collar is humming with power, pulsing in counterpoint to his racing heart as the Captain claims him, one atom at a time. Kris struggles, suddenly frightened and the Captain's grip tightens painfully.

Kris startles, lets the fear slip away for a second and feels for the first time, the faint traces of trepidation from the Captain. He is strong as a tempest, Kris thinks, he plays Kris' body like a finely-tuned instrument. What can the Captain possibly have to fear?

Rejection, comes the answer with a surety that surprises him. Isolation, bitterness, resentment. The Captain is strong enough to take but wise enough to know that the finest things - love, loyalty and trust - cannot be taken. What the Captain truly craves, Kris sees in that blinding flash of insight, is something Kris can choose to withhold.

He opens his eyes, staring into the vivid blue of the Captain's eyes. They're the colour of the summer sky, Kris realizes and wants to laugh. How utterly appropriate. He tries to imagine, even as the Captain sinks deeper into his very being, a life without the Captain.

His imagination fails him. Kris has hated the Captain, fought him and torn at him but he has never been so bleakly bored as he was on the Nightfang. The Captain challenges him, demands all that Kris can give in everything he does. The Captain's collar circles his neck, a secure weight now instead of a constriction and the Captain's elegant designs cover his back and eyelids. He isn't Kris of the Nightfang any long and Kris no longer feels the need to pretend that he is. He is Kris of the _Hyperion_ , Kris of Captain Lambert's heart and he embraces it.

 _Mine._

This time, the word comes from them both.

When Kris opens his eyes, he sees the glossy black reflected in his Captain's eyes. His Captain breaks the kiss slowly and with more than a pang of regret. Kris aches with loss from the second the Captain's lips break contact. The Captain's wrist is pressed against his neck, bracelet that matches Kris' collar pressed into his skin.

The collar and the bracelet it is attuned to hum. Without a word being spoken, Kris knows what he has to do.

He straightens his back and lifts his chin, feeling his Captain's pride as it thrums through them. The shadows under his feet open easily and Kris falls through, into the maelstrom below.

The Temple is close, almost near enough to touch. The storm rages stronger as Kris stretches his wings and refuses to fall. The world is a void around him, empty of all but the shadows. They are filled with noise and Darkness but Kris is no longer tempted by the siren song of the Temple's traps and snares.

His heart sings for his Captain's and that harmony will never fail to lead him home.


	12. Epilogue

_Two seasons later_

"The Harchester Trading Company here and forthwith posts this notice for the attention of all law-abiding subjects of the skies regarding the person of Captain Lambert, Adam Mitchell (also known as Captain Adam Mitchell, Captain Mitchell Adams, the Twilight Captain and Captain of the Night Skies).

Be here advised that the above Captain is here declared and charged as a pirate of foulest repute: a thief of no less than 100,000 gold sovereigns: a traitor and a burner of airships belonging to and insured by the Harchester Trading Company Ltd: a murderer of no less than two hundred loyal sailors of the Harchester line and many more innocents in service to companies affiliated with and in competition with the Harchester Trading Company and further, said Captain to charged with acts of sabotage.

The above felon is further charged with the commission of the unnatural acts of Alchemy and the pollution and degradation of the natural order through his use of the outlawed Apparatus For the Control and Direction of Meteorological Pheromone.

The felon Captain is therefore wanted to answer the above charges before a judicial court at the earliest possible moment. To that end, the Harchester Trading Company wishes to make known the offer of 50,000 gold sovereigns for the capture or confirmed killing of said Captain Lambert to any individual.

Further bounties are offered on the crew of above Captain Lambert's vessel, the _Hyperion_ as follows:

For the First Mate, Ms Scarlett Skyrider - 40,000 gold sovereigns:   
for her partner Ms Allison Skyfire - 20,000 gold sovereigns

For the Second Mate, Gunner Monte Hellfires - 35,000 gold sovereigns

For the Master at Arms, Ms Bloodfiend/TempestDemon/RageFury - 36,000 gold sovereigns

For the Helmsman, Mr Tommy Windborn - 25,000 gold sovereigns,

For the Boarding Master, Mr Brad Shadowborn - 30,000 gold sovereigns (for proof of death)

For the Captain's Hand, Kristopher Shadowborn/Lambert - 45,000 gold sovereigns-

[Written in ink across the remainder of the poster is a crudely lettered "LONG LIVE THE NIGHT CAPTAIN!! DOWN WITH HARCHESTER!"]"


End file.
